Chapter Forty Three

Myra was tired. She was always tired. Every movement took effort, like the whole world was heavier, but only for her. It’s not that she lacked the strength, just the energy. If it weren’t for her family she would have starved to death long ago. Her brother especially gave her the motivation she needed to do anything. But how cursed was she that she required motivation even to get out of bed? She made the attempt now, pushing with her hands against her soft bedsheets, forcing herself into a sitting position. It worked, barely, and Myra was released from the cozy grasp of her bed. Unless she decided to lay back down again and fall back asleep. That did happen sometimes, but not today. She seemed to remember that her brother had asked her to do something for him today, although her mind was too hazy from waking up to remember what. Actually, she wasn’t even sure if the task was today or not, but it felt soon probably so she might as well get up now in case it really was today. Myra planted her feet on the floor of her room and shakily stood up. There was a golden bell on her nightstand which she picked up and lazily rung once. Then, since the bell was heavy, despite not actually being made of gold, she put it back onto the nightstand. Well, really she just stopped trying to hold it up and let gravity do most of the work. Moments later, Cellidor, her elven butler, entered the room.

“What do you require, Lady Myra?”

“Uhh… what time is it?”

“Four hours past noon.”

When did I fall asleep yesterday? I think it was around midnight. So that would be, uh… sixteen hours, I think. Or wait, was it midnight? It might have been noon. It was definitely twelve though, I just can’t remember which twelve.

“Did I sleep for four hours, or sixteen?”

“Sixteen.”

“Right, thanks.”

You would think it would be easy to tell if you overslept or under slept, but it made no difference to Myra. They both made her tired. Then again, sleeping a ‘normal’ amount made her tired too, so it didn’t make much of a difference how long she slept.

Now… what am I forgetting? Right, the thing my brother Mervil wanted me to do.

“Cellidor, Mervil wanted me to do something. Uhh… what was it again?”

“Validus has called for another meeting, and he requested that you attend it.”

“Another? Oh right, I was asleep for the last one. Well, when is this one happening? Please tell me it was two hours ago and I missed it.”

“Sadly Lady Myra, the meeting will occur an hour and a half from now. Just enough time for you to make it.”

The dead look in Myra’s eyes was her only reply. She could have slumped back into her bed and gone back to sleep, or failing that she could have just lain there until the meeting was over. But her brother asked her to do something, so she was going to at least try.

Ugh. Why did I accept becoming a high priestess again? My position is almost entirely ceremonial and it’s still too much work. I know something is better than nothing, but can I find a better something?

Myra idly considered retiring, but not seriously. The moment she didn’t have any obligations she knew it would be the death of Myra the person, and the birth of Myra the sleeping. So, as she was still alive, Myra the person found her walking stick, staggered out of her room and got twenty feet before she found her couch and collapsed onto it. That was the most she could do until she got some food. Luckily her butler was working on that. Twenty minutes later Cellidor came back with two plates of food, one for him and one for her. Myra felt that her butler was too quick in his cooking, as she was still too tired to put forth the effort of eating, but then she saw he had cooked sausages for her, and decided that maybe she could eat after all. Skewering a sausage with her pristine silverware, Myra ungracefully took a large bite out of her meal. It was unbecoming of a lady and priestess such as herself, but she didn’t care. Grace took more effort than she cared to give. So she just ate, and when she was done she felt a bit better. Still tired, but less so. Begrudgingly, she had to admit to herself that she now had enough energy to get to the meeting. That wasn’t for another hour though, so she still had plenty of time to laze about. Cellidor though, had other plans.

“We must leave for the meeting Lady Myra.”

“Huh? Already? Can’t we go later, I’m still waking up.”

“We cannot. The last time I allowed you to leave it to the last minute we arrived ten minutes late.”

“Fine, we can go now. But I want to stop by the Temple of Larquin if we have extra time. I had a dream, and I want to make sure I remember it, in case I want to paint it or something.”

“Very well, Lady Myra. May I ask what this dream was about?”

Myra had to think about that. She didn’t quite know herself, with how little she remembered of it. But she felt… inspired.

“I think it was about me. Or maybe someone else in my body. They definitely looked like me, but they were doing stuff. Somehow though, I felt more tired than usual. Or maybe not tired, but… apathetic? I don’t know, it didn’t really make sense.”

“Was it a bad dream?”

“Umm… no? Or, maybe? I feel like it should have been a bad dream, but I just didn’t feel anything, so I guess it wasn’t.”

“Well I am glad you slept peacefully then. Do you remember what you were doing, despite your fatigue?”

Killing by the dozens without feeling a thing.

“Nope. I just remember I was working unusually hard. I’ve already forgotten the specifics though.”

“Ahh, such is the nature of dreams.”

*

It wasn’t a long journey to the Temple of Larquin. This was good because it was one of the two places outside of her home that Myra actually went to, with the other being the Grand Temple. The Temple of Larquin was a beautiful building, befitting the god of art, with twisting, multicoloured spires that rose into the sky. The roof of the temple, where the spires rested was circular, giving the impression of a crown, not one of some tyrant king, but the crown of an artist. Circling the entire base of the building was a single, long, stained glass window, that told a story. What story? Well, it changed every few weeks. The glass was enchanted so any artist or writer could give their work to the temple and the window would depict their story. Myra didn’t recognize the story that was currently being showcased, but whatever it was, it had a lot of dragons. Maybe she would ask someone about it. Or maybe she wouldn’t. It was so hard talking to people sometimes. Most of the time really. It was even harder to remember what they said. Myra walked into the temple, slowly, but without her walking stick. It was only for when she was at her most fatigued. And for when she wanted to pretend to be more tired than she was, to get out of social situations, though she rarely needed to do that here. She actually liked most of the disciples of Larquin, even if she didn’t remember all of their names. Music was playing from the inner courtyard, and the temple was built in such a way as to allow the sound to travel to every corner of the building easily. The song was upbeat and fast-paced, which was good because one time they played something calming and slow-paced, and it put her to sleep before she even reached her office. It was a real achievement too, considering her office was the closest room to the entrance. This time she got there without a problem. At first glance, most people would mistake the room for an artist’s studio. Easels, jars of paint, and half-finished paintings littered the room, making it an absolute mess. There was also someone else already in the room - Alice, Myra’s assistant, and the person actually running the temple. It wasn’t even a secret; even the public knew that Myra was the high priestess in name only. Not that she cared, she barely even wanted the job. Alice didn’t want the job either sadly, which confused Myra to no end. She was already doing the job, wasn’t she? Just make it official already.

“Myra, I have several projects that I need your approval for and Duke Eberhold the Third is requesting a portrait from the High Priestess of Larquin.”

“Uhh… the projects are approved and tell the duke no. Do you need my signature for anything?”

“Yes, just sign right here so I can get those projects underway.”

Alice placed a piece of paper on the desk and pointed at a blank spot waiting to be signed. The page was full of writing, but Myra wasn’t going to bother reading any of it, so she just added her signature, a lowercase m, and moved on. Moved onto the couch she had moved into her office that is. She fell face-first onto it and just laid there for a moment before Alice started talking again.

“I have also finished another chapter of my book if you are interested in reading it.”

“Hmm?”

Myra moved the fastest she had all day, which was to say as fast as a normal person, and sat up on the couch.

“You’ve finished another chapter? Alright, gimme; I’ve got a meeting I need to be in soon and this will be a perfect distraction.”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Alice handed over a small stack of papers filled with writing, but unlike the official stuff, this was interesting. Still, Myra was a slow reader and she knew she didn’t have the time to read the chapter and still make it to the meeting in time. So instead of reading it here, Myra used a spell. It was a spell she had used for this exact situation many times before, so it wasn’t too difficult, but the effort still drained her. Still, this was something she cared enough about. Myra pulled at her mana and imagined the haze in her mind clearing. She pictured the story that Alice had been writing for years, and the love for her art filled Myra with the power of her god. The spell was completed. Keeping it up was draining though, so Myra wasted no time in flipping through the pages she was given. She only spent about a second on each page before moving on to the next. When she’d finished, she handed the pages back to Alice and ended the spell, visibly slumping in exhaustion. The spell was a memory spell. Everything that she saw while the spell was active she could recall with perfect clarity, for the next 24 hours at least. She still needed to process that information at a normal speed, but she could do that in Validus’ meeting.

“Alright, now get out of here. I’m too tired to talk to you right now and I still have to pray to Larquin. Oh, and I’ll be leaving right after this too, so if anyone asks for me, tell them I’m not here.”

“Of course.”

Alice left the office and Myra went back to the reason she even came to the temple, which was to pray to her god. But first, she was going to crash on the couch again. Cellidor, hero that he was, found an easel with a blank canvas on it and placed it in front of Myra. A set of paints came soon afterwards. He said nothing though, he didn’t rush her, or remind her that she was on a time limit. He just waited. It took several minutes for her to gather the strength to start, but she got there eventually. The priestess sat up, faced the canvas, picked up her paintbrush, and then closed her eyes. Prayer came in many forms, and for Myra, who found inspiration in her dreams, this was how she did it. She thought back to her dream, the one she’d had a mere hour ago. The one that featured herself. By now, all she recalled were fractured remnants of the dream, but it was starting to come back to her. Myra’s arm started moving, but she didn’t check what it was painting, she had a dream to remember. She was walking uhh… somewhere civilized. She wasn’t sure if she was inside or outside, but she felt like she was around buildings. There were a bunch of people around, but they were all vague, so probably not anyone she knew. They were all frantically running around in a panic, but Myra was calm. Actually, she wasn't even that. She was just… empty of emotion, and so very tired. Then the reason for the panic became apparent. Large, black tendrils sprouted from Myra’s back, or maybe they had always been there. They whipped out at the fleeing crowd, with speed and ferocity. Where they struck, people died. Snapped spines, broken necks, even limbs being torn from the body. Still, Myra felt nothing. She was too busy walking towards something. Or… was it someone? Yeah, there was a specific person she was walking towards with a purpose. To kill them? She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t even tell what they looked like, but that was normal. She needed at least some creative freedom in her art. Myra opened her eyes and found she had painted a sketch of what she saw. Herself in the foreground, with the tendrils taking up a large part of the canvas. Then the mystery person in the middle ground, being approached, and in the background were all of the other people getting killed or running away.

I wonder why I’m killing people. And random people too - seems like too much effort to me. Am I meant to be possessed or something? Could be a charm too. Well, whatever, the painting looks like it will be cool at least.

Cellidor was sitting across from her in a chair he found, waiting patiently. He couldn’t see the painting, as it was facing away from him, but he could tell she was done by the fact that she had stopped moving.

“Alright Cellidor, how long was I out for?”

“Nineteen minutes. And before you ask, yes we still have plenty of time to make it to the meeting.”

“Betrayed by my own god. Saying I was busy communing with Larquin would have been the perfect excuse too.”

“It seems it is the will of god for you to attend.”

“Fuck…”

*

Myra was staring blankly at a wall. The was a large ornate door that would have been much more interesting to stare at, but it was the door to the meeting room, so she ignored it on principle alone. She was broken out of her trance by the sound of metal boots striking the stone floor. Looking over to the source of the sound she saw the Grand Paladin, who had arranged the the meeting. Validus. Myra shot him a glare, but she wasn’t sure if the glare was different enough from her normal face for him to even notice. He mostly ignored her anyway, and simply opened the door to the meeting room and entered.

“…Was it not even locked this whole time?”

“It is typically not, unless it is in use Lady Myra.”

“Oh… well, whatever, it’s not like waiting inside would have made much of a difference.”

Myra was about to stumble into the room when Cellidor stopped her with a gesture of his hand.

“Lady Myra, before you enter, take this.”

The butler took out a metal canister and held it out towards his lady. Myra could hear a liquid sloshing around inside it.

“What’s in it?”

“Water mixed with sugar, with lemon juice added for flavour. It’s to keep you awake during the meeting.”

“…Thanks.”

Myra opened up the canister and immediately took two big gulps of the drink. It wasn’t the best drink she had ever had, but it was sweet and it woke her up a bit, so it was good in her books. Also, the canister itself must have been enchanted with a lightness spell, because she didn’t drop it immediately. She knew that her energy wouldn’t last forever though, and Cellidor did too, so he already had her walking stick out. He couldn’t come into the meeting with her, it was for high priests and priestesses and higher only, so she had to take it with her in case she needed it on the way out. She grabbed the stick and found it heavy, but light enough that she could still carry it. Now only extremely tired instead of dead tired, Myra entered the meeting room and found her seat. It was a large, circular room, that she didn’t actually care about enough to remember anything about, so she didn’t. Other people were entering the room now too, but she tuned all of that out and started to read Alice’s chapter, through her perfect memory of the pages. It was a bit hard to ignore everything around her, especially once they started talking, but she managed. No one expected her to contribute in these meetings anyway, so what difference did it make if she knew what was going on or not? What she was reading was much more interesting anyway.

“…Myra. Myra!”

“Hmm? Ah, are you talking to me?”

Validus was staring straight at Myra, and he had just been shouting her name. He looked a bit frustrated too, which was probably related to the shouting her name thing.

“We are waiting for your vote Myra.”

“Oh, are we voting? Okay, I vote yes.”

Myra took a sip of her lemon drink, since she remembered she had it, and Validus just looked at her incredulously.

“Do you even know what the vote is for?”

“No, I wasn’t listening. I don’t really care though, whatever it is I vote yes. Or, if yes isn’t an option, I guess I will just vote for whatever Mervil voted for.”

Myra felt like she was breaking some social norms, but she was just too tired to care, so she went back to reading. She didn’t get much farther though, because the meeting ended shortly after the whole voting thing. She didn’t notice until half the people had already left though. Getting up, and taking one more gulp of her drink, Myra started to make her way to the exit. She only got halfway before Validus blocked her path.

“Myra, may we talk?”

“…Do I have to say yes? Because I really want to say no.”

“This is an important matter.”

Everything’s an important matter with this guy. I just want to go home and sleep. Or maybe work on my painting. Not talk to people.

Myra was about to walk past him, when she saw her brother, also making his way out of the room, give her a look. It was a look that said ‘Be a person.’

“Alright fine, we can talk. Just let me sit down.”

She slumped down into the closest chair to her, which happened to be the High Priestess of Xyloth's chair.

Was she the mean one, or the nice one? I can't remember.

Validus decided to get straight to the point, he barely even gave her enough time to sit down.

“I need you to paint one of your prophetic paintings, to help us catch the witch Shuka.”

“…Huh?”

There was a long, drawn-out silence as Myra tried to process what Validus said. It was hard though, she drank more of the sugar juice, but it only helped so much.

“So… this witch person, is it that racoon girl I’ve seen around?”

“No, that is a different witch, unrelated to this one. I showed a drawing of her during the meeting, did you not see it?”

“No. And don’t show it to me now, I don’t care.”

He looks really annoyed again, did I mess up? Oh, it was probably the ‘I don’t care’ bit.

“Regardless, can you paint her? If you are painting the future then I imagine you don’t need to know what she looks like right now anyway.”

“Well yeah, that is how it works, but… no.”

“No?”

“Yeah, no.”

There was another long pause before Myra realized he was waiting for her to explain her refusal.

“Okay, so like… I don’t want to. And also I can’t, but mostly I don’t want to.”

“What do you mean you can't?”

“Well, I can, but I can’t just choose to. Most of my paintings aren’t even prophetic, they’re just normal paintings. I only really paint when I get inspired anyway, I just don’t have the energy otherwise.”

“If you need to be inspired to paint, then do whatever it is you need to do to become inspired. This is important, and one of your paintings would be very useful.”

…Is this guy serious? Do what I need to do to become inspired? Does he even know what inspiration is?

“Look, I’m already painting something, and I’m not going to start something new until I finish it or give up. Besides, all of my prophetic paintings only ever relate to stuff I care about. And I don’t care about the witch.”

Validus was getting mad, and he opened his mouth to shout, but then stopped himself. The paladin took several deep breaths to calm himself down before speaking again.

“Why do you let yourself be crippled by your fatigue? Surely there are spells that could keep you awake, you could achieve so much more if you used them.”

Validus wasn’t the first person to ask her this. She was starting to get sick of it. She was also getting sick of talking, she had done entirely too much of it today. She went to drink again, but only a trickle was left. The sugar high she was on was starting to run out as well and whatever little energy she had left was running out. It was a good thing she was done talking.

“Spells are too effective. I may be tired but I am never anything less than myself, and I would rather be tired than dead.”

Myra grabbed her walking stick and used it to push herself up. She staggered past the Grand Paladin, and he didn’t stop her. Just stared from behind.

“Dead?”

*

Myra stared out the window of her carriage, on the verge of sleep. The sugar crash was hitting her hard, and she knew she wasn’t going to get any work done for the painting, so she told Cellidor to take her home. She really was about to fall asleep, but the sound of a man yelling startled her enough to shake out of it. The carriage stopped, and looking out onto the street Myra saw a servant, shouting something about vagrants. She had no idea what he was talking about, until two figures, first one then the other, burst out of an alley, past him. One of them was that cute racoon girl she had seen before, but the other was a stranger. She looked a little… boring to Myra. Blonde hair and pale skin, she had seen it a million times before. But still… something about her caught the artist's eye.

Hmm… doesn’t my new painting have a lot of nondescript people in it? Maybe I’ll make her one of them. People don’t like when I put them in my paintings though, especially the more grim ones. They always think it’ll be prophetic. Maybe I’ll just change her features a bit, I mean she is pretty boring right now. How about black hair instead of blonde, and I’ll make her skin a bit darker too. That would make her blue cloak clash though… I guess I’ll just have to change its colour too. Maybe to something a bit more earthy, like green or brown. Ooh, I bet her hair would look great in a big braid. There, now if my painting does predict the future, there’s no way she will be part of it.

“Cellidor, I think I just got inspired again. Can we go back to the temple?”

“Of course, Lady Myra.”