Linarra kept herself still as the acolytes took rough bristled brushes to her skin. The water she sat in near room temperature, she willed herself not to shiver or complain. The acolytes continued to pile coarse salt on her arms and shoulders, scrubbing until her pale skin gleamed bright red. It stung and her skin was sensitive besides. Everything in the Grand Temple was like that, though. Coarse. Rough. Unyielding.

Dawn hadn't pinked the sky yet as it was still in the gray, weary hours before sunrise. The cleansing ritual took a day and a half, and she was at last at the end of it. The Feast came next. She'd be allowed rest, and then she would begin the pilgrimage and walk the Path of Ishahn.

One of the acolytes, a girl just a few years younger than her, pulled a comb through her damp hair. That hurt too, none of them were gentle and Linarra suspected that they half enjoyed hurting her. She'd done this herself, when she'd been an acolyte, though she hadn't inflicted any unnecessary pain on the Initiate, the other acolytes did. They'd told her that it was all part of it. Cleansing the flesh, cleansing the spirit of weakness. Linarra refused to cry out or voice her displeasure. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction or something to whisper about later. The acolyte yanked and tugged all the knots out of her pin straight, mouse brown hair and braided it too tight so that it gave her a headache. She'd loosen it later.

As was tradition, all the other girls were naked too. More than the pain and discomfort of the cleansing ritual, it was the nudity that bothered her. Not because she was prudish, but because she didn't measure up. Even several years older, and she didn't possess the virtues the other girls had. Her bosom had never matured into anything noteworthy. Her hips were wide but her behind was flat. More than the sting of the salt and brush, her homeliness and the constant reminder of it nearly made her cry. She knew the acolytes thought she was plain at best, ugly at worst. She heard the gossip and jealous whispers. They weren't jealous of her looks, but rather her circumstance. Of all the Initiates, Linarra had been given the most handsome Guardian. According to the acolytes anyway. Just thinking about that made her cheeks burn in shame and embarrassment. It's not as though she'd asked for Veshier to be her Guardian. One didn't get to pick those things. He despised her besides, but they conveniently overlooked that.

The bath was mercifully over and after they dried her with towels, they slipped a new robe over her head. Linarra mashed down her disappointment. It was just as coarse as her old one, and she doubted it was new. No one in the Grand Temple would confess or admit it, but goods and coin were perilously low and had been for some time.

The Grand Temple at Bejhor was the jewel of the world, but even the brightest gems lost their luster under drought, famine, and plague, and all of those had been raging for nearly three years. Every year, the larders were more bare, the feasts more paltry. High Priestess Lihriel said that it was a test from the Mother, that they would all fast and continue on. It was a trick from the Usurper. There were many reasons, but reasons didn't fill bellies.

Linarra wondered how it must be outside the Temple. If they suffered, surely the people of Bejhor suffered worse. There was no real way for her to know, acolytes and Initiates all stayed safely cloistered in the Grand Temple along with the monks and their servants and Guardians. The people of Bejhor tithed in thankfulness. Tithes came less frequently. Some villages stopped tithing altogether.

The acolytes tied a red sash made of fine silk around her middle. The only color she'd worn in a decade. It was to symbolize the blood of the Prophet, but Linarra immediately disliked it. Such a disappointment, she thought because she'd looked forward to it so much. To wear color again!

Against the gray wool of her plain robe, it looked out of place, garish.

They left her alone then to pray and fast. Linarra didn't feel like doing either. Before the cleansing ritual, she'd been lectured for hours. Briefly, she considered napping. Who would know? No one was to disturb her solitude. I'd know, she thought sourly.

Her room, despite having a washtub, was very small and unadorned. Not that she minded. She was used to it, it was familiar, safe. Linarra felt as drab and gray as the stone walls. Invisible. She'd half expected to never become an Intiate. The High Priestess chose who walked the Path of Ishahn, deemed who was ready and worthy. Linarra didn't feel ready, and she really didn't feel worthy. Especially not for what came next.

Pacing the room, Linarra entertained wild excuses and fantasies to get out of it. She could run away. Plenty of girls had before her. Monks too. Even a Guardian once. No one would stop her. There were guards to keep people -out-, not to keep people in.

She could confess to the High Priestess Liriel that she wasn't ready. That she didn't want to become a Priestess. She could remain an acolyte or become a nun. She wouldn't mind. But no one had ever refused the honor. Not in the entire history of Bejhor's service to the Mother. Would there be some horrific penalty? She wondered, wishing she were brave enough to find out.

Her gaze strayed to the wall her sleeping cot rested against. On the other side of it, her Guardian, Veshier, would be sitting in prayer and meditation. Crossing the floor, her slippered feet hissing over the cold stone, she placed her palm on the wall and wondered how he felt. It would be the last time she'd wonder. In a few hours, the Bonding Ceremony would link them together forever.

Thought and feeling intertwined.

It was the very last thing she wanted.

Everything everyone whispered about Veshier was true. Tall, handsome, capable and cold as the mountains in the north. The Mother had both blessed and cursed him. She'd taken his eyesight at birth and replaced it with another kind of sight. He saw the hum and vibration of all living things as waves and light against the black. He could see the intent and emotions of others. But most importantly, he hated her.

At least, that's what it seemed like. He'd begged High Priestess Liriel to give him another Initiate. Anyone but her. And when asked why, he refused to answer. Linarra didn't much like him either.

Pressing her forehead to the cold, stone wall, she closed her eyes. The Feast would start just past mid-morning. Her stomach rumbled, she'd been fasting for days, but she knew the Feast would not offer any comfort. It was a ceremonial feast. She'd heard talk that most Initiate's threw up or had to stay in the privy for hours.

Though the walls were stone, they weren't thick. At first, Linarra thought she imagined the sound that came from the other side of her wall--Veshier's room. But there it was again. Moaning. Feminine cries of pleasure. Stumbling back as though the wall were hot to the touch, Linarra stared at the blank, gray stone, mouth agog.

That certainly didn't sound like meditation or prayer. Of course, Guardians didn't take oaths of purity. Priestesses didn't either. Only the monks and nuns swore off physical copulation. Still...

Linarra wondered who it was. Veshier didn't dine with the other Guardians. He kept to himself. Is that what he spent all his time doing? She scoffed, disgusted. Of course, he had to be a lech too.

She had no experience and curiosity drove her to the wall again. She pressed her ear against it and heard more of the same. Well, whoever was in there, they were certainly having a good time, she thought sourly. It wasn't that she wanted to begrudge Veshier his...fun, it was that she wished he took it all a little more seriously.

Despite her inner turmoil, Linarra took it seriously. It -was- a great honor. She just didn't think herself worthy of it. Her path had always been murky at best. How she envied High Priestess Liriel. The Mother had given her all the gifts. An elf, one of the last of her kind, she was tall and thin as a reed. She had an ageless, lovely face framed by waving, golden hair. Graceful and delicate, her voice, though soft, commanded and inspired. Liriel was radiant. All the things Linarra was not. She felt like a slug slithering up to a flower in her presence. She supposed she was at least a little flattered that the High Priestess saw anything in her worth anything at all.

Linarra busied herself with tidying her room. She pulled the wrinkles out of her bed linens, dusted the bedside table. She ordered her sacred texts, even the Edicts of the Usurper, which many acolytes refused to read. She knew that to defeat an enemy, one must study said enemy. It wasn't wise to shy away from things just because they were unpleasant.

Her fingers lingered on the spine of the book. Soon, she'd walk the Path of the Prophet, to Mt. Hyn, where the Usurper slumbered, sealed in stone within the heart of the craggy mountain. Many said it was just a story, an allegory, that there was no Usurper, or, if there had been, he'd perished long ago. Linarra believed, though. She wondered what it would feel like, to stand at the foot of Mt. Hyn, to feel the echoes of the Prophet and her mortal struggled against such an evil. She wondered if she'd feel the malevolence.

She jerked her hand away, reminding herself that knowing the enemy was one thing. Being fascinated and overly curious was another. That, she knew, was a dark road, and she had enough darkness inside her as it was.

Maybe that was why Veshier loathed her, he could -see- it, the dark inside her. Like rot inside a ripe peach. No matter how much she prayed and fasted and dedicated her life in service of the Mother, she couldn't banish it. She could feel it, lurking, waiting for a misstep. A small permission.

Linarra used to tell herself that it was -her- test. Priestess Liriel said that everyone was tested by the Mother. It was her great struggle, just as Ishahn had struggled against the Usurper. She must seal the darkness within herself and give it no quarter.

So, she didn't dwell on it further and continued to tidy her room. It dawned on her then she wouldn't return to her room again after the pilgrimage. Priestesses stayed in the central buildings of the Temple complex. She'd never been, only Priestesses, their nuns and Guardians were allowed, but it was rumored to be a palace of finery and luxury. And though she looked forward to a little more extravagant a lifestyle, it never quite sat right with her. The teachings of the Mother said you should be humble and not indulge. It was likely just rumor, she thought, even as images of High Priestess Liriel draped in silks and jewels tugged at her thoughts.

Sitting at her rickety writing desk, Linarra pillowed her chin in her palm. Nothing left to do but wait. She could spend her time in prayer and meditation, but her mind seemed empty and if she let it wander, it only strayed to unpleasant things. The sounds from the other side of the wall continued. Scowling and picking at a splinter, she wished they'd finish up already. It seemed almost disrespectful, to do -that- today. Maybe Veshier was saying goodbye to things too, just like she said farewell to her room.

The sounds meant, however, that she couldn't help but think of the unspoken, but prevalent consequence of the bond between Initiate and Guardian. The bonding ceremony was more than pomp. It connected them, in body and soul and mind. Every pain she felt, Veshier would feel. Every hunger, yearning, sadness, every joy, they would share it as one. It was to reflect the bond of the first Priestess, Liriel, and her champion, Jael. The Mother linked them together to protect Liriel from the evil influence of the Usurper and his minions.

Jael had died centuries earlier, but served her even in death. His lifeless body followed after her still. Linarra had seen him only once, and it what a terrible thing to behold he was. His skin, gray like stone, bloodless, sagged on his bones. His milky eyes forever fixed on Liriel like a hungry, rabid animal. The bond could not be severed and was not to be entered into lightly. Every Initiate and every Guardian became lovers, at least, that's what she'd heard. Maybe that's why Veshier hated her. Someone had told him how plain she was, how lacking in charm. She doubted that was it. He was blind, after all. Surely, he wouldn't be that shallow. What did it matter what she looked like if he couldn't -see- her?

Linarra was loath to admit that she found him beautiful. She didn't want to, but it didn't change that she did, and he was. Tall and athletic, Veshier had long, golden hair he kept in a loose tail. Shoulders broad and face angular, he made all the acolytes swoon. He wore a strip of white linen over his sightless eyes, but even so he moved with boneless grace as though he heard some song that no one else could. It irritated her, but she didn't know why and tried not to dwell on it. He just represented all the things she wasn't. From a good, noble family, respected, handsome and talented. All the things she lacked.

She must have dosed, because a knock startled her awake. Jumping to her feet, Linarra shook the pins and needles out of her hand and opened the door. Greeted by two, somber, sour-faced acolytes, she bowed to them respectfully and followed as they turned to walk down the hall to the dining room. Once their backs were to her, Linarra looked behind her, to see if Veshier was following. He wasn't.

Usually, Initiate and Guardian entered the dining room together and sat next to each other. Though he'd never voiced his displeasure, at least not that she'd heard, this little act of defiance of tradition said volumes. It sunk a heavy stone in the pit of her stomach. Everyone would know how he felt now, even the servants. What if he didn't show at all? The sting and burn of embarrassment flamed her cheeks, and she dropped her head as she walked, hoping no one would notice.

Under the rejection and embarrassment, rage bubbled. She'd never done a thing to him. Had only spoken a handful of words to him. What about her was so repugnant and terrible? Was it something in her energy? He could see the flow of energy of all living things. Was her very energy ugly too? Tears threatened to spill, and she had to blink fast to keep them away. Wiping her sweaty palms on her robe, Linarra tried not to cry. It was something she always worried about. No matter how faithfully she served the Mother, no matter if she gave her whole life to the service of good, the black mark on her soul would weigh her down forever.

As the acolytes ushered her into the dining hall, Linarra kept her head down. She didn't want to see that Veshier wasn't there, that everyone would notice. What she really wanted to do was turn around and run. Run away from the temple, into the forests and disappear. This was all an honor she simply didn't deserve.

The smell stole any other thought she might have had. Immediately, her empty stomach lurched. Linarra snapped her head up and looked around. The dining hall was drenched in color, so much it made her dizzy. Banners of brilliant sky blue silk, the monks in their canary yellow, the nuns in their blood red, acolytes in gray and Liriel at the head of the long table, standing, resplendent in gold, illuminated by lantern and candlelight. She held out a slender hand, bedazzled in jewels, at the seat to her right, empty, clearly reserved for her. Veshier sat, stiff, jaw visibly tight, to her left. At least he showed up, she thought.

The table had no food, save at her seat. A plate heaped with various rare meat sent spirals of steam into the perfumed air. Sensors of incense and the bloody, copper smell of the meat made her a little nauseous. She hoped she wasn't expected to -eat- all of that.

Her legs threatened not to carry her the length of the dining room, but Linarra forced herself forward, head high as was expected. Acolytes began taking their seats and it wouldn't do to embarrass herself by showing indecisiveness and crying and running away would certainly be frowned upon. She wouldn't. She bowed before Priestess Liriel and sat, forced to look at Veshier directly. It was the closest she'd ever been to him physically. The very moment she sat down, his nose wrinkled and his expression somehow soured even more. The feast had begun and gave her little time to think about it or puzzle over it further.