Page 55 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)
The church loomed over them but did not yet cast shadows over the square.
Many would argue a church should bear beautiful and opulent engravings to match the city, while others knew a church did not need to be beautiful to welcome those of faith.
Larelle believed the latter, though there was something uncomfortable about the luxuriousness of the church; it had too many engravings and statues to keep track of.
She imagined it would take scholars months to record everything in it.
One stood out to Larelle: a statue of two large hands joining together, with water flowing from their palms and spilling over the sides like a fountain.
Each realm across Novisia devoted its religion to celebrating their god or goddess.
Here, they worshipped the Goddess Nerida.
Larelle often questioned whether religion created more division than harmony across the realms. The Neridians were pious people who believed their goddess was the most merciful and forgiving of them all. They followed daily practices, like washing the sins from their souls after confessing to them.
“Why have we never been here before?” asked Zarya when Larelle guided her to the other side of the fountain towards the looming entrance to the church. She glanced at the obnoxiously priced silk dress stores and over-priced dessert spots.
“Because we had everything we needed at The Bay,” Larelle said, and Zarya frowned like she did not quite believe her mother.
“But we need things from here now?” she asked, and Larelle nodded.
“Yes. We need some help from the church.” Alvan had sent word of their arrival the previous night once they had decided to visit.
“What do they do at a church?” Zarya asked.
Larelle glanced at the carved N engraved in the pillars at the entrance and felt guilty for not having taught her daughter much of Nerida’s religion. But neither Riyas, Olden, or her parents had been committed to religious ceremonies, thus it had not plagued her that Zarya should learn.
“We worship the Goddess,” spoke a serene voice from the side of the pillar.
The young woman was so quiet and discreet in the shadows that Larelle had not noticed her.
The stranger smiled and lowered the blue silk hood of her cloak, revealing golden hair secured in a tight updo.
A simple metal diadem connected into a point on her forehead. An acolyte .
“How?” Zarya asked, unswayed by the stranger’s presence. Larelle tucked Zarya close to her side.
“I would be happy to show you, Princess Zarya.” The woman curtseyed low before repeating the gesture for Larelle.
“Forgive me, it has been so long since I have visited the church,” said Larelle politely. “I do not know with whom we talk.”
The young woman approached with her hands clasped before the blue rope wrapped around her robes.
“Sister Vivian, Your Majesty.” She bowed her head again. “I apologise, but Father Zoro is not available to meet at such short notice. I hope I will be enough to assist you for today.”
“It is surprising that a priest would not make himself available for his queen,” Alvan said, and the acolyte blushed, bowing her head again.
“Permission to speak freely, Your Majesty?” she asked. Larelle glanced at Alvan, wide-eyed. He shrugged.
“You do not need my permission to speak your mind, sister,” Larelle assured her.
Vivian raised her head again before guiding them through the archway and into the church.
It was as bright inside as the buildings outside.
Pastel paintings adorned the walls, depicting lovers and lakes, tall cities surrounded by the sea, and flashes of scales amongst the waves.
Larelle’s parents had never indulged in religious stories, yet looking at the paintings forming the church walls, Larelle could not deny her intrigue.
The dark wooden pews contrasted the brightness of the interior as she walked down the aisle.
“It pains me to speak ill of someone of the church, Your Majesty, but Father Zoro has never been…” She paused and peered up at the domed glass ceiling. “He has never been fond of the royal family.”
Larelle smiled at her careful choice of words as she walked beside her down the aisle.
“That does not surprise me. My parents were never ones to participate in religious ceremonies,” Larelle said.
“It does make me wonder where the Goddess destined their boats to sail after their funeral.” She stopped next to Vivian as they reached the altar, where carved waves held up a pillar with an old book placed upon it.
“The Goddess is known for her intuition; she will have ensured they ended in the correct resting place.” Vivian smiled.
Larelle glanced at Zarya, who stood with her hand in Alvan’s a few steps behind.
She was too distracted by the dome ceiling to listen to the fate of her grandparents.
“What is it I can assist you with today, Your Majesty?” asked Vivian.
Larelle wondered if she was always so polite.
“I was wondering if the church had any old texts in its possession. Either those originating from Ithyion or perhaps written by those who would have lived upon its lands.” Larelle kept her request vague, and Vivian frowned in thought.
“Well, of course. We have our holy texts and artefacts; those deemed sacred enough were brought with our fleeing ancestors. Are you wishing to build your knowledge of the kingdom we are founded upon?” she asked, and Larelle nodded.
“One would always like to know more of their history, particularly when those closest are no longer here.” Vivian’s frown turned to one of pity, assuming Larelle missed her parents or brother.
“This way.” Vivian guided Larelle to a locked door in the corner behind the altar, and Larelle beckoned for Alvan and Zarya to follow, the latter of which gaped at the surroundings.
Larelle trailed her hand along the wall as they entered the corridor.
“Apologies for the darkness,” Vivian called ahead.
“We must preserve the conditions of the texts and tapestries.”
Larelle felt the ground incline into steps. Her legs ached as she followed Vivian and reached the top of the church. Vivian pulled a set of keys from under her robes while Larelle turned to check on Zarya, unsurprised to find her giggling on Alvan’s back.
“Please, wait here while I light the room,” Vivian told Larelle.
The young woman’s movements were soft as she removed a lantern from the wall and lit the others around the vaulted room.
Larelle reached for the heavy curtain before her and peeked behind it, squinting as light greeted her directly at the edge of the domed glass ceiling.
Peering down through the glass exterior, Larelle saw the altar they had been at moments ago, and when she looked up again, she saw the rooftops of Mera on the opposite side.
Larelle let the thick fabric fall into place to once again protect the room. Tall bookshelves lined the centre and created aisles—a library Larelle never knew existed. Her eye was quickly drawn from the shelves to the magnificently large tapestries lining the opposite wall.
“Mumma, it’s you!” Zarya called, pointing at a tapestry.
Larelle tilted her head and saw how the woman could remind Zarya of her mother.
However, Larelle was reminded of the painting in her father’s hidden room—a canvas of Goddess Nerida.
The tapestry spanned past several aisles of bookshelves.
Such a masterpiece would have taken years to create, and Larelle thought of the many hands who had channelled their passion into its weaves.
She tried to make sense of the scene it depicted.
It showed nine figures. The woman who looked similar to the Goddess stood hand in hand with two others: a beautiful blonde, and a broad man with dark hair.
They formed a circle with the two women opposite: one with dark hair, and another paler than the other.
Instead, Larelle focused on the figures behind the women, crafted in faded grey fabric.
She could not make out their significance.
“These are some of the oldest we own,” Vivian said.
Alvan was quick to drop Zarya’s hand and take the books that towered past the acolyte’s eyeline, placing them on a table that appeared as old as the texts.
“There are not many. As you can imagine, there was little time for our ancestors to take books as they fled.”
“But they could take tapestries that large?” asked Alvan. He was right . Vivian fell silent while peering at the multiple tapestries on the wall, seeming to admire the work with glistening eyes and a small smile .
“I suppose I have never questioned what is passed down to us.” She frowned, and her eyes grew vacant.
“Who is she talking to?” asked Zarya, and the acolyte’s head whipped to the young girl.
“She was speaking with me, sweetheart.” Larelle stroked her daughter’s hair. “Are you getting tired?” Zarya backed into Larelle’s skirts as Vivian stared down at her, tilting her head.
“I don’t want to sleep; I think too much when I sleep,” she mumbled into her mother’s skirts.
“You mean you dream too much?” asked Larelle, crouching to face her daughter. Zarya nodded.
“Dreams are a blessing, princess. They could be a gift from the Goddess herself,” Vivian said, but Zarya continued to press further into Larelle’s hold. Larelle frowned. Zarya was never shy.
Drawing the attention away from her daughter, Larelle asked, “Which texts are the oldest?”
Vivian’s gaze lingered on Zarya for a moment longer before turning to the books and pulling one from the bottom of the tower.
“This is a collection of prayers, though they are not specific to Nerida. This is a collection gathered from scholars across Ithyion; it references all the gods. Larelle smiled as she reached for the book.
“Perfect.”