Embrace of the Goddess

Embrace of the Goddess

Chapter 1: Reflections

By Trixie Adara

"That's the third expulsion this week."

"I know, High Priestess, but -"

"No," said Iriel, standing up and moving from behind her desk. The elven woman stretched as she stood, her back sore from sitting in meetings all day. "The Order of Azora is not a large order, and do you know why?"

The sniveling dwarven headmistress started to nod an answer but thought better and shook her head. When Iriel didn't provide an answer, simply waiting calmly and staring the older woman down, Kasha ventured a guess. "Our oaths?"

Orilana, the tall dark elf in plate armor, shuffled her feet back and forth. It was obviously the wrong answer. Orilana's long black hair was in a bun to keep it away from her silver armor with gold lining. The silver was the classic color of Azora's order. The gold was a sign of her high rank.

"No," said Iriel. She smoothed out her robes. "Not at all." She took a deep breath, working to keep her temper in check. "It is our standards. Any applicant to the Abbey must be interviewed, multiple times. Her family history is checked. Her friends are interrogated." Iriel pointed to Orilana. "They are followed and watched the closer they get to acceptance."

Orilana cleared her throat. Iriel took another deep breath, quickly becoming carried away. That happened whenever she got on a roll. Her cadence slipped into that of a lecture. Kasha wasn't the one in trouble. That privilege belonged to Quana, Voge, and Katalina. Three of her acolytes — three promising ones at that — and each of them expelled for ... weakness of the flesh.

"Selectivity," said Iriel. "That's why we're a small order. It's incredibly difficult to get in. We only accept the best, and, even then, we only accept a few of them a year. Azora demands our utmost devotion. There can be no weak links in the chain."

Iriel lowered her voice. "Besides, we keep such secrets here. Dangerous secrets."

A rare ray of intelligence struck the dwarven headmistress, who wasn't much more than a nanny for the acolytes. "Oh!" she said. "Is that what you think -"

"Enough," said Iriel. There was a dangerous edge to her voice. She didn't intend it, but that was the nature of such topics.

"What the High Priestess is trying to say," said Orilana, stepping forward from her position by the door. "Is that this either indicates some weakness in how the girls are watched and cared for, or it indicates a weakness in the selection process."

"Correct," said Iriel, nodding to her friend.

"And I doubt she's implying that Azora's divine wisdom has caused her or the bishops to stumble."

Iriel said nothing. The moment hung in the air between the three of them, the three responsible for keeping appropriate worship to their goddess and banishing all knowledge of what rested beneath their feet.

If it wasn't Iriel's fault, and it wasn't Orilana's fault, that left one person left.

The vapid woman gasped as her brain slowly trudged to the realization. "Oh! Yes. Of course. I'll do better in the future, Your Eminence."

"I'll need more than that," said Iriel. "Azora demands our best, and if you can't offer that, perhaps Mashala will." The woman blanched. She'd held this position for three decades. Mashala was eager and ambitious, but she didn't have the pedigree to be headmistress. It'd be a scandal.

"I'll have more guards making rounds at night," suggested Orilana. "Though that will mean less guarding below."

"No," said Kasha. "I'll do it myself. Nightly rounds. Every hour."

"Make both happen," said Iriel. "If we lose another, I'll hold you responsible, Kasha. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Your Eminence."

"You may go."

Kasha rose, bowed, and rose again. She scampered out of the room, and Orilana opened and closed the door for her.

"Sun's rays," she sighed as the door closed. "Three?"

"Yes." Iriel sat back down at her desk. She'd have to notify the girl's families. Worse, she'd have to double the recruiting for next harvest.

"And for debauchery." Orilana whistled.

"Yes, speak a little louder," said Iriel. "I'm sure Prim outside the door can't hear you."

"Prim won't talk, she's -"

"Right now, no one is behaving as they ought. I think I'll —" She saw the look on Orilana's face and stopped herself. Another deep breath. "Sorry," she muttered.

"It's fine. You've been under a lot of stress lately."

"That's no excuse." Iriel went back to writing her letter to the girl's family. "Especially for a High Priestess."

Orilana said nothing. She sat in the chair previously occupied by Kasha and let Iriel write in silence. Iriel was struggling to find the phrasing. She had to tell the parents that their daughter was dismissed for debauchery. But how could she tell them that Quana had been found holding her roommate's face against her crotch, forcing the halfling girl to eat her out? No one expected the acolytes to keep their vows of chastity forever. Masturbation was commonly discovered. Occasionally two girls turned to each other. But debauchery was saved for those that had abandoned their oaths. They didn't just experience lust; they reveled in it.

Quana had pushed her roommates' boundaries until the poor girl serviced her each night and burned with shame. Voge had crafted herself a strap-on and was found mounting one of the maids. Katalina was discovered in the town, dancing and stripping for money. For a pittance more, she'd do more than dance for anyone who wanted it.

And did she describe these details to their parents? Or did she lie to protect their shameful activities? For the worst part of debauchery was not the sin the girl committed. It was drawing others into her sin. It was a betrayal of her vows of chastity and charity.

It was something Maloth would want.

Iriel shivered. She pushed away the thought and looked up at Orilana. "Which guards are you going to send to keep an eye on the girls?"

"I figured any could -"

"Your best, Lana. I want this shut down."

Orilana nodded. "Yes, Your Eminence." She was Iriel's friend when they were relaxed, but no one took her duty more seriously than Orilana. She knew what was at stake if Azora became weak or they weren't perfectly vigilant. It was as though while she wore the armor, she put aside their friendship. She cared for Iriel and looked out for her, but she was always Your Eminence or High Priestess while Orilana wore her armor. Iriel struggled to split her personality with such precision. Sometimes she slipped up and called her Lana in front of others.

But in the evening, as they reclined in their quarters, when her armor was off, she was Lana. She was Iriel's oldest friend. They joined the Abbey years apart, and Iriel was already rising fast thanks to her mother, but Lana was the only one that didn't treat her like the goddess herself. One day Iriel spilt hot chocolate all over her gowns. Lana was the only one that had the decency to laugh at her. Everyone else acted as though the sun had gone dark.

Imagine how she'd treat you with no clothes at all:

She stands in moonlight, naked and coy. The pale light catches her paler skin, and her dark hair is down, finally down. It cascades over her breasts. Her body is corded muscle but plump in the right places. You lick your lips. Yes.

Iriel gasped and dropped her quill.

"You alright?" Orilana stood up, her hand going to the hilt of her blade. She scanned the room for threats, all business now. "Your Eminence?"

Iriel closed her eyes, but the image was gone. She opened her eyes and drank in Orilana. Grey skin, pointed ears, light purple eyes, dark and silky hair. Clothed. Clothed and armored. It was nothing, a fleeting thought. Nothing important at all.

There was a knock at the door.

"Yes?"

Prim ducked her head in. "Rella is here to see you, Your Eminence."

Iriel sighed, and Orilana gave the High Priestess a sympathetic look. "Just a moment."

Iriel put away her letters. "That girl," she muttered to herself.

"Adores you," added Orilana.

"Would you like her to adore you?"

Orilana laughed and shook her head. "No thank you."

"That's right. Her adoration is a bit ... much."

"Humans are always like that. Short lifespans."

"Yes, well I wish she would treat me less and less like Azora and more and more like ..."

"What? Everyone around here treats you like Azora herself, clad in flesh to bring beauty and light to —"

Iriel waved her off. "First. Blasphemy. Second? Not funny."

But both women were smirking.

"I better get going," said Orilana. "I'll explain the new rounds to my girls."

"You're going to leave me now?" Iriel fake pouted. "But I neeeed you! Knight, defend me!"

"No one can defend you from that girl, Your Eminence. I'm afraid you'll have to accept all her attention and devotion. Suffer through it, but suffer for the goddess." Orilana smirked and touched her forefinger and middle finger to her forehead. "May the light be on your face."

"But never in my eyes," added Iriel. Orilana laughed at their modification to the formal blessing.

"Adieu," she said, and stepped out of the room. Before she was gone, Rella came in. Iriel still had to adjust to the sight of the woman. She had dark skin, and presumably dark hair, coming from a desert region on the far continent, but no one — not even her roommate — had seen her without a veil concealing it. She was the first acolyte in three generations to go back to wearing the veil. It was a white cloth, linen in the sun months and something heavier for the moon months, that covered her body from head to toe. It was one piece, covering her neck, her head, her hair, her ears. Everything. There was only a thin line where her bright green eyes and dark skin could be seen. Her hands were uncovered — though on holy days she wore gloves — and the veil was long enough to drape over her feet. It was covered in a lace detailing in the symbol of Azora: two wings on the edge of a broken heart. The heart was whole, but the cracks were highlighted in gold, showing the healing Azora had done.

Rella's zeal was commendable, and it got her through the rigorous application process easily, but some of the older sisters were a little intimidated by her. It was one thing to love Azora. It was another thing entirely to demand that everyone love her as much as you do. On top of that, Rella was brilliant. She had half the ancient texts memorized by eighteen. Humans didn't live long, so to spend the first promising section of your life memorizing scripture was brave and intimidating. No one had done that before. She was one of the brightest and most promising acolytes the Abbey had seen in decades.

And yet Iriel couldn't stand her.

For everything she had a question. For every answer she had a verse of Scripture to add on or counter what you said. Her brain had no room for ambiguity, for mystery. It was necessary to understand that deities came with perfection and contradiction. That was the beauty of faith, to find something larger than yourself but still find that nothing needed to be flawless to be good. Rella didn't understand that.

And when the Abbey taught that the High Priestess was the voice of the goddess and the ear of all free peoples, she took that a little too literally. She thought Iriel was Azora. Theologically, that may have been partially true and partially profane. But Rella should try being High Priestess for a day and see how divine you feel while ordering grain and tending to the mentally insane. If she had a speck of the goddess' power, perhaps she'd feel she deserved a speck of Rella's attention.

"Your Eminence," said the girl as she bowed. She was a curvy girl. Not heavyset, not like Kasha or Quana. But her hips and bust strained against her veil. She said she needed a bigger size, but Iriel and the other sisters were too embarrassed to tell her that her sign of devotion and modesty to the goddess still drew attention to her body. It could be that no veil could hide her curves. Rella wouldn't take that well.

"Blessed Dawn, Rella. How can I help you?"

"Blessed Dawn," echoed Rella. "Um, I was hoping you could help me solve a conundrum I was wrestling with.

"Yes." Iriel stood. "Walk with me."

Rella stepped out of her way as the High Priestess stepped out of her office. Rella trailed behind, and Prim followed as well. Iriel went everywhere with an escort. Prim was a bit young to be a paladin, but she was an angel in spirit and in blood. Those born to Azora's flock were admitted immediately to the Abbey. Those with angel blood, the Aasimar, were given heavy consideration during the admissions process. Who better to serve the goddess than her angels?

They walked through the winding caverns deeper into the Abbey. The Abbey itself was underground, built into the side of a huge cavern. Many people throughout Alondra speculated as to why the goddess put her priests here. They made up conclusions about Azora putting herself close to danger, about the ubiquitous presence of death reminding the priests of the value of life, of those that love Azora being willing to risk their lives, and that even a cloistered life of devotion was a dangerous life. All of them were noble and beautiful.

All of them were wrong.

The Abbey was a lock on a cage. Few remembered what was trapped at the bottom of the yawning cavern beneath them, and that was for the best. It would take one dark sorceress or megalomaniacal necromancer or ambitious demon prince to bring about an evil that cost the goddess' life to trap.

The consequence of their location was that everything was carved in stone. Although the architects were known for their immaculate masonry and the stained glass that the outer walls and temples showed off to the world, their true brilliance was in the network of tunnels and passages in the rock hanging above the abyss. Iriel walked through them now, the torches along the way giving her light, the clanking of Prim's armor punctuating each of her steps, and the overly eager shuffling of Rella's footsteps wrapping around them like whispers.

"What was it you wanted to speak about?" asked Iriel.

"I've been doing some reading," said Rella. With her short legs, she had to practically run to keep up with Iriel's stride. "In some of the originals of the Divine Dictations. I've been working with multiple translations to compare: Elvish to Celestial. That sort of thing."

"Uh-huh." Iriel nodded to two acolytes that scampered past, making the sign of the goddess, touching forefinger and middle finger to her forehead. There were mutterings of "may the light be on your face" and "Blessed Dawn" as they passed.

"Well, I even found some texts in the ... uh ... archives."

Iriel turned and raised an eyebrow but kept walking. "The forbidden section?"

"It's not called that." Rella shrunk. Any blush would be hidden, but she was excitable and nervous. When Rella blushed, she blushed with her whole body.

Imagine her warm skin under that veil.

Iriel turned around, looking for the soft and thick voice whispering in her ears. "Did you hear that?" She asked Prim first, but the paladin said nothing. "Did you hear that voice?" Rella shook her head, clueless.

Iriel paused and let her hands glow with warm light. Her escort paused with her, looking nervously around the chasm. She tapped into her connection with the goddess, listening to Azora's voice and guidance. She sent her light and presence out in all directions, looking for whatever was whispering to her. She looked for any trace of magic or corruption. She inspected her body for any twisted leylines. Was there a curse? Some madness? Poison? Was it a spirit? A demon? Perhaps something invisible was stalking her? She sent the light out in little pulses, timing it with her heartbeat, looking for whatever it was that haunted her.

She found nothing. One hundred and forty-one souls in the Abbey. Three short of a holy number. All as they should be. Not a trace of darkness around them except for what was below.

What was always below.

"Never mind," said Iriel, shaking her head. "Proceed, Rella." She turned and continued walking. Fella and Mola would be in one of the practice chambers, holding their advanced courses on defensive magic. The sooner she got there, the sooner she could excuse herself from Rella.

"Right, well I was comparing the original celestial with the infernal and abyssal translations."

Iriel stopped again. As she turned on Rella, she saw Prim's face. Prim's amused expression had become almost feral at the mention of demonic and Molal texts. "You what?" snapped Iriel.

"I assumed that if I had permission to be there then I had permission to read anything I found there." Rella shivered, but she didn't yield. She tried to hold her ground, and Iriel struggled to stay mad at the blank veil. It was like being mad at a statue.

"You assume too much."

"I won't do it again."

"No. You won't. Your library access is revoked until you complete Penance."

"Yes, High Priestess," though she didn't sound like Iriel was the Voice of the Goddess now.

"What did you find?" asked Iriel as she turned and kept walking.

"You still want to know?"

"If it was worth confessing to practical blasphemy, I can assume it was interesting."

"Very."

"Careful acolyte, a mother's rage is for her children's benefit, but it is rage nonetheless."

"Yes, High Priestess."

"Tell me what you found."

"Right. Well." Rella seemed to have perked up. There wasn't much she loved discussing more than research. "There are remarkable consistencies throughout translations despite the variance in language," she said. "But I found one interesting problem. In some texts, it says that Azora slew the Dark One, and it cost her her life."

"Yes."

"However, in the infernal and abyssal, the term is closer to devour or consume."

"So? That is all Molals and demons know. They do not simply kill; they absorb what they slay."

"Right, but I found similar wording in the elvish. Only the celestial uses a term like smiting, a type of divine retribution like revenge. But the other ones seem to imply that the goddess took the dark one inside herself and then died."

"Either way the dark one is dead, yes?"

"Yes, but -- "

"I will ponder this, acolyte." They had begun to navigate the wide corridors filled with students and teachers, paladins and priests. "Thank you for your assistance."

"Yes, High Priestess."

"Now if you will excuse me, I must talk with Sister Fella and Sister Mola."

"Yes, High Priestess."

"And Rella?" said Iriel, turning to face the veiled girl before she scampered away.

"Yes?"

"No library access until Penance is completed. I'll inform Kasha and Orilana."

Rella shrunk and dipped her head in shame. "Yes, High Priestess."

Iriel sighed with relief as the girl disappeared into the maze of caverns. She regained herself when she saw the look on the faces of Fella and Mola.

Fella and Mola were practically her sisters here. Technically, she had no sisters, but all three had joined the Abbey in the same year, and all three were highly blessed. Iriel was the daughter of a long line of High Priestesses. Fella and Mola were both Aasimar, able to link their blood back to one of Azora's original legions. They mostly had to spell their name right on their applications to get through admissions.

Fella kept her hair in a long brown braid. She had wide brown eyes. Everything about her was soft and wholesome, including the pale golden coronet around her head. Whenever she laughed or smiled, it grew brighter.

Mola was thinner and leaner. Some people thought she had Fey blood in her, based on her appearance. She had short red hair, choppy and uneven since she cut it herself. Her arms were tight with muscle, but you couldn't see it under her plate armor. It was like Orilana's but without the golden trim. Mola had no halo, but the freckles all over her face and hands were gold instead of a faint brown, and when she got angry, faint wings looking like lace made of light sprouted from her back. It must have been the most beautiful last image an infidel got to see.