When they left at dawn, there wasn't any fanfare. Linarra didn't know why she expected it. Life in the Temple was all about ceremony and ritual and it was a bit of disappointment. At least she had the rest of the journey to look forward to.
She'd been regaled with tales of the pilgrimage since she'd first come to the Temple. The way was long, a tough journey on foot, but there would be merchants' wagons and travelers to aid them along the way. They couldn't bring anything but the clothes on their backs, blankets and water. All the rest would be provided by the good people along the Path. Linarra and Veshier would stop in each village where they would be given food and wine. She would be asked to give blessings and healings, and the villagers would fill their pockets with coin as tribute.
The weather was unpleasant. Misting rain and chill made the road muddy and the Temple, rising out of the gloom with ivory walls and towers, was still in sight when Linarra's boots were completely soaked. Soon, she consoled herself, they'd be in a wagon, getting warm and dry, on their way to an actual feast.
Veshier, stoic as ever, slogged along a little ahead of her. His feelings were as murky as the sky. She knew that there was some hidden fire under the relentless gray of his feelings. Had he prepared for the bond? Learned to mask himself from her? Probably, she thought sourly.
"How far do you think we'll have to walk?" she asked, tired of the silence and the maddening pitter pat of the rain on her cowl.
He lifted one broad shoulder in a shrug. Unlike Veshier, Linarra broadcast every feeling. Loudly. She could feel it in their bond. She felt things -too- loudly. She didn't know -how- to mask her feelings. She'd never had to before.
Not wanting to complain as she was sure Veshier hated complaining, Linarra kept her head down and trudged forward. Her feet were so cold they ached. After an hour or so, even her clothes were wet, sticking uncomfortably to her skin. To pass the time seeing as how Veshier wasn't going to help in any way, Linarra thought of all she'd read about Prophet Ishahn's walk along the Path.
The Prophet had been a slave and broke the chains of her bondage. She traveled the world offering healing and the loving words of the Mother. Though scripture never explained how, she met the Usurper and discovered his treachery. The Usurper had once been an Aspect of the Mother. The Usurper fled Ishahn's holy wrath, and she followed him, along the Path, to Mt. Hyn where she vanquished him by sealing him in the stone of the mountain.
But that's all that was said. Surely, Linarra thought, there had to be more to it than that. It was a dry tale, but so important to the Temple. How did she uncover the Usurper's treachery? Which Aspect had he been? Why? She had asked as a child, always so curious, but every question was met with sour faces and disapproval. These weren't proper questions.
Linarra lifted her head to look at Veshier's back. He wore a hooded cloak, gray, same as hers. Strapped to his back was a long sword in a leather scabbard. On one shoulder he carried a pack with their limited supplies, also probably soaking wet now. She felt suddenly spiteful. He might be fine just trudging along, but it was misery for her.
"What Aspect of the Mother do you think the Usurper was?" she wondered airily.
He froze. He stopped walking. She felt it along the bond they shared. Anger, disapproval. It shot through her like a hot knife and made her gasp.
"It's just a question!" she protested. "You're so good at shielding your thoughts, you might consider shielding -those-."
He grumbled and continued on.
"Don't you ever wonder anything? Why is it bad to wonder?"
"Because. It's the little permissions, Linarra."
"What's that mean?" she asked, increasingly exasperated.
He waved a hand as though he were physically waving her questions away. Like they were annoying flies. "You shouldn't give the Usurper space in your thoughts. That's all he needs. A little room. That's how corruption and damnation begins. You give him a little permission to occupy your thoughts."
His answer cooled her temper considerably. She'd never thought of it that way. Perhaps he was right. "Well, if only it had been explained to me -that- way. Maybe I wouldn't have asked so many questions."
She could feel him soften towards her, if only a little. "Ignorance is only an excuse for so long, Linarra."
It seemed a valid excuse to her. How could she be faulted for things she didn't know and no one would tell her? It all seemed unfair. Her legs ached now, muscles protesting. Initiates were required to walk the grounds of the Temple to prepare them for the long journey of the pilgrimage, but walking in the sweet, warm air of the perpetual spring of the Temple was quite different than the wet, rugged, cold terrain of the outside world.
The Temple couldn't be seen anymore and the surroundings levelled into farmland. It was mid spring, and she expected to see green shoots and waving grain, but the fields were all fallow, empty. She didn't see any animals or people. It was strange.
So strange, she fixated on it, looking at the fields as she walked. Linarra didn't notice that Veshier had gone still, standing in the middle of the muddy road. She ran into his back, nearly knocking her off her feet.
"Veshier?" she asked, alarmed. Anxiety bled into the bond.
He didn't answer. He stood completely still, body rigid, hands at his side trembling. Reaching out, she touched his arm. He startled.
"I can't see, Linarra," he said, voice wobbling.
"I...I know. I-"
"No!" he snapped. "There's nothing here. No life. I am completely blind."
"Oh," she breathed. Linarra didn't know what to tell him. She didn't know how to help.
"I can't move forward," he said. "All I see is you. Your color." He sounded agitated, on the verge of panic.
She stepped in front of him and took his hand. He resisted only a little. She turned and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Well, let's go. Follow my color then."
Veshier said nothing, but when she began walking, he followed. She kept her pace even, but a little slower. His fingers tightened on her shoulder, but he kept his hand there.
"So...what color am I?" she asked, curious. It didn't occur to her that it might offend him until it was already out of her mouth.
"Blue," he answered immediately. "Pale blue."
It made her smile and warmed her, though she didn't know why. It didn't mean anything. "Is everyone a different color?"
He hmm'd. "No. People usually are the same color. Reds and browns. Sometimes yellow. I've never seen a person be...blue before."
Unless it did mean something. "My eyes are blue," she told him, though she doubted there was a correlation.
She felt a little tickle along the bond. He liked that, that her eyes were blue. "Everything here is dead," she told him, making her voice quiet. Even then it felt like she was talking too loud. "There's nothing growing in the fields. No animals. No people."
"The land is dead," he told her. "Nothing can grow."
He said it so flatly, but it chilled her. Made her afraid. That wasn't right, was it? The land shouldn't be dead. "I wonder what happened."
He didn't know. She felt his confusion and alarm now. His dread. "I don't know."
Linarra tried walking slowly and carefully, but still Veshier stumbled, boot catching on a rock, making him crash into her back. Turning, she looked at him, the despair and shame in the bond between them clenching her insides. His face twisted and reddened.
"I can't do this," he told her. "How can I protect you this way?"
She looked around, scanning the dead landscape. "There's nothing to protect me from," she muttered. "Not here, anyway."
Scanning the sides of the dirt road, she found a long, fairly straight tree branch and brought it to him, pressing it into his hands. "This may help more. I'm too short."
Veshier grunted and accepted the stick, but she knew he wasn't happy about it. She decided she'd lead the way and started walking again. They continued in silence for a long while as the sun began to sink towards the horizon.
"I didn't have my gift when I was a child," he told her, voice as hollow as the wind rustling dead grass and rattling empty branches. "What a relief it was, when I started seeing the colors of living things."
It felt like a door opening in her head, when he told her this. Another level of understanding, vulnerability. "When did it happen?" she wondered, legs aching, stomach growling audibly.
There had not been a single horse drawn carriage or anyone to greet them. They'd passed a village an hour ago, but it was derelict, clearly abandoned, though not that long ago. She thought about asking to stop there, sleep in an abandoned house, scour the cabinets and larders, but thought better of it. It had a haunted feeling that made all the hair on her neck stand up.
"I was fourteen. It was the day after my brother...," he paused. "Died."
Linarra had only heard of Veshier's older brother once, from another acolyte. Supposedly, he'd been a Guardian and had failed in protecting his Initiate. She'd had an accident, was attacked, no one knew for sure, and he'd taken his life with his own sword. And though she really wanted to ask him questions, she knew better to. She could feel how much he didn't want to talk about it. what a source of shame it was.
"Maybe," she said softly instead, "It was his gift to you."
It went over about as well as she thought it would. He soured and went silent again. She heard the swish and crunch of his make shift walking stick on the ground as he moved it in front of himself.
It continued to grow dark and unaccustomed to walking so much, Linarra needed to stop soon. Her mouth was sticky from being dry. They had very little water left. It just wasn't supposed to be this way, she thought, cold, aching. Where were the people? The gifts? It was like all the color had been drained out of the world and everything was a gray, watery smear.
"I see something," Veshier said, breaking the eerie stillness and groaning of the wind. "I'm not sure how far away, but a green glow in that direction," he pointed vaguely down the road.
Even squinting, Linarra couldn't see anything. "Is green a good color?" she asked.
"Colors aren't good or bad. Typically. Green is common. Something is alive in that direction," he explained, tone flat, but she sensed that he was wary, keeping things from her.
"Should we head that way? I'm growing very tired."
He scoffed at her. "We may be walking all night and well into the next day. You were told to build your stamina, weren't you?"
"Yes, but...I was told things would be different too. I walked the grounds every day. I didn't eat too many sweets," she groused, feeling defensive, switching her pack from one aching shoulder to the other. "Besides, you didn't answer me. Should we go that way or not?"
She looked back to see him shrug, raising one shoulder indifferently. "Yes, but cautiously. I wouldn't announce our presence loudly."
"I hadn't planned on it! I'm not an idiot, Veshier."
His lips curled in a mean spirited little smile, and she trudged ahead, stung by what he implied. Obviously, he thought she -was- an idiot, but still she couldn't figure out why.
"I don't know why you dislike me so much. I know I asked earlier-"
"You don't have to fill the silence with noise, Linarra," he snapped.
What a miserable trip this would be, she thought, unable to articulate her disappointment, not even in her own head with her own thoughts. It was all such a complete disenchantment. Not that she'd wanted this for herself to begin with. Had she a choice, being a Priestess wouldn't have been the one she made.
When she'd arrived at the Temple as a young girl, just before her tenth name's day, she'd been sure she'd become a nun. They were women without special favor from the Mother who chose, through destiny or circumstance, to serve Her faithfully until death. Right away, she'd been made an acolyte at High Priestess Liriel's command. Her mother had promised her that she'd not told anyone at the Temple what she'd done, but Linarra had often wondered what the High Priestess knew. And now, what Veshier knew. She didn't dare ask and tried very hard not to think of her life before the Temple, lest Veshier could somehow know the truth through the bond.
It was hard to make herself -not- think of something. A light rain had begun to fall, just like the night she'd been cast out of her family's home. The same, cold dread wrapped itself around her. It felt like walking into spider webs. She couldn't see the light, but something seemed off.
"Veshier," she whispered. "I have the worst feeling. Maybe we should go around. Not risk it."
He hmm'd and sounded as though he would really consider what she'd said. "I see something within the green light, a flash. A pulse. Like static."
Stopping and staring into the growing dark, Linarra shifted on her feet, hoping to ease their aching. "Oh?" she wondered. Again, he didn't explain anything. She tried searching their newly forged bond for the answers. He mirrored her dread, but kept it tightly folded against his chest. He didn't want her to know that he felt the same foreboding.
"You don't like it either," she said, tone a little smug. "I can feel it."
He hmm'd and went still, his face a stoic mask. Quiet for awhile, Veshier finally spoke, "There's a disturbance there. Something...unsavory. Isn't it our duty, Initiate, to purge the lands of such things?" He didn't turn his face towards her while he spoke.
"Yes, but-"
"You shirk your duty?" He lofted a brow.
Linarra didn't answer and dropped her pack and sat on the ground beside it, every muscle aching, feet so sore they felt two sizes too big for her boots. "It's not that. I don't know what I'm doing. You think we're trained so well, but you weren't there for the lessons. They're not lessons at all! They're stupid platitudes." She was sure it was some unspoken, blasphemous rule she was breaking, but she didn't care. "The Usurper himself could be up ahead and all that would happen is that we'd die."
She expected his distaste and anger, revulsion. Annoyance. But he sat carefully beside her and merely looked thoughtful. She felt no reproach or animosity which only confused her more.
"I doubt it's the Usurper, Linarra," he said as though he were talking to a very stupid child.
Scowling, she dug through her pack, hoping she'd find even a mold apple. There wasn't one. "I know that," she snapped. "What if it's an injured child? I don't know what to do about that either. They say the Mother will just...work through us. I've yet to see that actually happen."
And she hadn't. A maid had fallen down the steps and broken her leg very badly the year prior. The Priestesses had prayed over her for hours and hours and nothing happened. The monks applied herbs and tinctures, but that didn't fix it either. Only when three days had passed and the woman was close to death, her wound smelling like rotten fish, did they call on High Priestess Liriel. Linarra never saw that maid again. Everyone said she'd been healed and returned to her family, but it hadn't sat well with her. She wasn't sure she believed that.
"It's a lack of faith," Veshier said. "You don't have any faith. The new Priestesses are more concerned with how they wear their hair and all their jewels than they are doing the Mother's good work."
Her thin robe did little to keep out the chill of night, and she shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. "I don't know," she muttered. "I don't think that's it. Have you ever seen someone healed?" She knew it was a stupid question the moment it came out of her mouth. He couldn't 'see' at all.
Cringing, shoulders hunched, she waited for the reprisal, but it didn't come. "Once," he said, tone soft. "The Priestess my brother served was gifted and pious. It was said she could heal the blind."
Linarra stared at him, eyes wide, chest aching. Whether he meant to broadcast the hurt across their bond or not, she felt it. She didn't know what to say. What if she could heal his sight?
I have gifts, she thought with growing unease. Just none anyone would want. Nothing useful. She'd hoped with training, her 'gift' could be made useful. Channeled in some fashion. But training never occurred. Her studies were simply songs and hymns and teachings about being kind and humble.
Linarra looked at her hands. They were balled into fists, resting on her thighs, clutching at her thin robes, knuckles white. The rain was coming down a little harder, making her clothes damp and itchy. She bit down on her lip to keep from thinking, remembering.
"Should we go? Don't make me decide," she whispered.
He gave a curt nod. "We should. Perhaps it's nothing. There might be food and rest there."
He rose before she did and offered her a hand, hauling her to her feet. The moment her hand was in his, she felt it, the electric shock of the bond. It wasn't unpleasant. It didn't hurt. It tingled, warmed her skin. Embarrassed, she jerked her hand away and brushed it off on her leg, face hot. He'd know, she thought, that she found him handsome. She didn't want him knowing anything about her at all.
"Let's go," he said, walking ahead, the swish of his walking stick tapping along the ground. Linnara followed after.