Page 3

Story: Of Blood & Stone

Chapter 3

A Price

T orches lined the high sandstone walls of the temple’s altar room. Sylzenya’s bare feet slapped against the cold marble floor. Yellow and orange stained-glass windows covered the ceiling, casting a warm glow onto the willow growing in the center of the room. Large roots protruded from the ground, like ripples in a pond before they dove deep into the earth.

She would seek her goddess, Aretta, through these roots, but she needed to calm herself first. The anger from her father’s betrayal swelled inside her veins, burning against her skin, causing the cut along her back to ache. It was his fault she’d lost her connection to Aretta, his fault their people would starve to death.

“No one’s communed with our goddess through these roots in centuries, Syl,” Nyla spoke from behind, her friend’s voice echoing along the sandstone walls.

Sylzenya closed her eyes tight. “I’m aware.”

“Then why do this to yourself?”

“Because I don’t have another choice.”

Nyla shook her head. “I know you’re upset, but you know orodyte serum can’t be extracted from our bodies once it’s entered our blood.” Her friend’s warm hand gripped her shoulder. “Let’s take this slow, alright? You’ve already lost too much blood to accomplish this rite properly.”

Sylzenya turned, body rigid.

“My father poisoned me, Nyla.”

“I know?—”

“He stole my power from me. He’s doomed our entire kingdom.”

“Sylzenya, please?—”

“They sacrificed my childhood for this, and they take it away without a second thought? Dooming not just our people, but their daughter with it?” Sylzenya’s face burned hot as she curled her fists.

Nyla stilled, her amber eyes filled with pity. “Your parents are… unwell. But this doesn’t mean we need to find a solution right now.”

“I still might have some power left, and if I do, I intend to use it.” Sylzenya peeled her friend’s hand off of her shoulder. “If you’re truly my friend, you’ll stand with me, not against me.”

“I am always with you, Sylzenya,” she retorted, “but there’s a lot to consider. It’s why I urge you, at the very least, to delay what you’re about to do.”

“There’s no time,” Sylzenya replied, gaze turning to the willow’s roots, “I need to make this right before word gets out that my power is…” she paused, clearing her throat, “I’m going to seek Aretta’s Willow. Its sap can heal any ailment, so it should be able to do the same for this poison.”

A taut silence spanned between them.

“Not only is the tree a myth, we don’t even know if it’s capable of restoring power.”

“And that’s why I’m going to seek Aretta—for her direction and counsel.”

“Is there nothing I can say to dissuade you from this?” Nyla asked.

Sylzenya’s jaw hardened. “Our life’s path is that of a Kreena, our sole purpose to provide for our people. And pain is merely the price we pay for it.”

“This isn’t the time to use scriptures.”

“Then what times are they made for? When everything is bright and good? I’d thought they were meant for times when we needed hope.”

Her friend stared long and hard at her. Letting out a deep breath, Nyla finally stepped back, placing both hands over her heart and bowing. Sylzenya returned the gesture, one of respect and honor on behalf of their goddess.

Kneeling before the tree and its roots, Sylzenya bowed her head. She heard Nyla’s whispered prayers echo along the walls behind her.

Smooth, cold bark slid underneath her palm. Bright green leaves brushed against each other. Closing her eyes, she listened for her goddess’ heartbeat. The familiar rhythm she sought out not only when she was creating vegetation in the gardens, but also in the cold nights when she yearned for her parents.

Please, Aretta, don’t abandon me just yet.

Something soft sounded in her ears.

Thump.

Sylzenya dug her nails into the root, splintering the bark.

Thump.

Desperation gave way to searing pain, the cut along her back reopening.

Golden threads twirled out of the ground, slow and unsteady. Circling her arms, her goddess’ power faltered, the threads flickering in and out of focus.

She was running out of time.

Everything around her swirled into bright colors—purples, oranges, greens, and blues—like a clear piece of orodyte reflecting the sun.

Sylzenya’s head spun.

She willed herself to remain present as the colors brushed past her vision, illuminating before her a willow as tall as the temple itself. But unlike the willow inside the temple, the tree was as clear as crystal. Thin lines of gold ran up and down its base, into the limbs, and filling the leaves.

The mythical tree—Aretta’s Willow.

Aretta, hear my prayer , she pleaded. Where might I find your tree?

Only silence answered her, the golden light continuing to run up and down the tree.

A flapping of wings brushed by her ear. A bird landed on one of the tree’s many limbs, its gray and white feathers paired with deep blue eyes. It sat on the branch, staring at her, a thin gold object held in its beak.

A ring.

A bold question to ask , a voice whispered.

Sylzenya’s back ached. The strange voice filled her ears, neither male nor female, caught in between a song and a growl.

Please , Sylzenya begged the voice. I’ve been poisoned and require healing, or else all of Estea will starve.

For life there is a price , the voice answered. And only in pain can it be made whole.

Sylzenya flinched at the use of the scriptures.

Before she could reply, the bird flew from its branch and landed in front of her. Its gaze pierced hers, and she knew the voice belonged to the creature.

I do not fear pain , Sylzenya replied.

A lie.

I would not lie about this.

There is more pain than that which carves into your back, Sylzenya Phatris.

The bird flipped the ring in its mouth. Sylzenya’s vision blurred, but she quickly called the tree back into focus. The last remnants of her power were fading, and she wouldn’t let this warning deter her from her path.

Are you Aretta? Sylzenya inquired.

Aretta sacrificed herself centuries ago to destroy her brother, the god of chaos, Distrathrus. I would think you, a daughter of her temple, would know this , the bird answered. Ask your question, Sylzenya.

Does Aretta’s Willow live ? she asked.

It does.

Her heart pounded hard in her chest. Do you know where it lies?

I do.

Can it restore my power?

The bird blinked. Yes.

Please, show me the way.

There is a price for such knowledge.

Sylzenya took a deep breath. Is there another way to restore my power? To save my people?

The bird blinked twice.

If you are to restore your power and protect your people, then Aretta’s Willow is the only way.

Name your price.

The price for life will always be pain. The bird tilted its head. But you will regret choosing this path. I have seen it.

Sylzenya gripped the splintered root until it pierced her fingers, the crystal willow fading before her. She didn’t have time to consider consequences, for nothing could be worse than her purpose ripped from her body.

The only regret I would have is failing when I’m needed most.

The bird blinked again before dropping the gold ring onto the dirt.

Very well, Sylzenya Phatris.

It used its beak to draw a circle the size of Sylzenya’s palm. The piece of earth flashed a bright gold, the circle rising up from the soil, becoming something solid and beautiful: A gold compass, overlaid with a thin piece of glass. Inside it, there were no etchings, no directions—nothing but a thin stream of light as its needle.

A compass made by Aretta’s hands, its needle crafted from the bark of her willow , the bird said. Find the compass, and you will locate the willow, for the tree refuses to stay in one place for too long, and the needle will always point towards its home.

Sylzenya’s eyes widened, Where is this compass?

It resides in the temple. As the compass points to Aretta’s Willow, so it rests within the form of another.

It resides in a willow?

The bird nodded. This is all I know, for it was hidden centuries ago by someone else’s hands.

Sylzenya frantically thought of every willow in the temple. The trees were in every room, on every corner. There were hundreds.

Whose hands?

There are many things that I cannot say, even if I wish to. But I will say this—be wary of who you trust.

Sylzenya shuddered. Who are you?

But the bird only hopped closer to her, its thin clawed feet planted in the center of the ring.

For life there is a price, and only in pain is it made whole, Sylzenya Phatris. Your choice has been made, and so your consequence is set in blood and stone.

The gold ring erupted into a harsh light. She turned away, eyes watering from the spectacle. But when its light ebbed, she looked again, its golden sheen turned crimson, slowly melting until it became blood. It seeped into the soil, the ground becoming translucent, exposing a clear piece of orodyte hidden beneath the earth. The blood filled the stone until it burned a bright gold.

Suddenly, the bird shrieked.

Sylzenya gaped as a webbing of twigs sprung from the earth. It circled the bird like a claw, crushing it. Blood dripped from the ball of twigs, the bird’s neck bent in an odd shape, its white and gray feathers poking out at strange angles.

“What is this?” Sylzenya shouted, eyes wide, “What price must I pay?”

Pain as sharp as a dagger sliced across her back as everything swirled, her vision causing her head to pound as she shouted for her goddess.

Then everything gave way to darkness.

Sylzenya.

Her name echoed through her ears like a whisper.

Sylzenya.

The voice grew louder.

“Sylzenya!”

She opened her eyes, fresh air filling her lungs as she sucked in as much of it as she could hold. Her body ached as if a tree had crushed her.

“By Aretta’s blood,” Nyla cursed. “If you ever do that again, remind me to strangle you first.”

Sylzenya coughed while Nyla held her like a newborn babe. Despite the pain and the death of the bird, hope bloomed in Sylzenya’s chest.

“It worked, Nyla,” Sylzenya said, voice hoarse and lungs burning.

Nyla’s brows rose to her hairline. “You found the tree?”

“Not exactly.” She coughed again. “But I might be able to find it. There’s a comp?—”

Doors slammed against stone, interrupting her. Voices of all kinds echoed through the room, but one of them stood out from amongst the rest.

“You will see to it that Theraden Phatris and his wife remain in the dungeons under stern watch,” the High One said to the priestesses that followed him into the sanctuary. “There will be no trial, for we all saw his treason with our own eyes. Now go and make sure the newly ordained Kreenas are accounted for. Have each of them checked thoroughly. We will save the celebratory banquet for another day.”

The priestesses turned and left, but the High One’s gaze latched onto Sylzenya, and she saw something she’d never witnessed from him before.

Panic.

“What is this?” The High One questioned as he took long, quick strides towards her and Nyla, “What’s happened?”

Sylzenya couldn’t find the words so Nyla spoke instead.

“She tried to commune with Aretta.”

The High One kneeled before them, his cold hand running along Sylzenya’s face. The chill caused her to flinch.

“She’s lost too much blood,” the High One replied, “I’ll take her to the infirmary. Nyla, go ahead and return to your chamber. There will be a priestess waiting for you.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Nyla said as she passed Sylzenya to the High One’s extended arms. “We’ll talk later, Syl, alright?”

Sylzenya forced a wary smile. “Alright.”

Never had the High One done anything like this before. He’d walked alongside her, talked with her, but never had she experienced any kind of touch from him except a pat on the shoulder. She meant to steady her posture while he carried her through the temple’s halls, winding through the many corridors decorated with torches, vines, and flowers, but her strength was gone. She slumped against his chest instead, which was somehow just as cold as his hands.

“You must rest, Sylzenya, understand?”

The concern in his voice surprised her.

“I understand,” she wheezed.

They finally made it to the infirmary, a room full of shelves lined with glassware of all shapes and sizes. Vines and roses wove up and around the walls and ceiling.

He instructed one of the nurses to fetch herbs for Sylzenya’s cut as well as for sleep. He placed her face down on a cot made of feathers and covered in soft satin. When the High One crouched down to her eye level, she couldn’t help notice how his yellow gaze looked brighter than usual–more alert.

“Were you able to commune with Aretta through the roots?” His voice was a low whisper.

That same hope from earlier filled her chest, but then it doused like water on flames.

What was she going to tell him? She saw a bird and it told her to find a legendary willow with a compass? It sounded absurd. It was absurd. She’d just been poisoned, and now she was bleeding so much she couldn’t see straight.

Explaining this would be impossible, and she needed to know for certain if she believed what she’d seen with her own eyes before burdening her leader. When her parents had left her to the temple, the High One had been the one who recognized her power. He’d been there when she needed comfort. He’d been the one who stood by her when she needed it most.

He’d given her a purpose.

She didn’t need to worry him more after today’s events.

She heard herself answer as if she was somewhere far away, “I don’t know.” The pain in her body ached and scraped against her bones.

The High One’s ageless face didn’t change, his eyes still steadied on hers.

“You’ll get your power back, I’ll make sure of it,” He stood. “I’ll be holding a dinner for all the Kreenas tomorrow evening. I will need you to be in attendance as well, so please, get as much rest as possible.”

Silence.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she finally whispered.

As Estea’s leader left the infirmary, Sylzenya ingested everything the nurse offered her. And as sleep slowly took her away from her despair, she saw the bird’s deep blue eyes as it held the gold ring in its beak. It stood upon the compass, the needle bright and pointing towards a glowing, crystallized willow.

Your choice has been made , the bird’s voice echoed as she drifted to sleep, and so your consequence is set in blood and stone.