Page 7

Chapter 7

Nothing’s the Same

W illows covered the temple’s gardens in a cool, green shade as the morning sun continued its journey into the sky. Golden power shimmered in the small grove, the threads of light wrapping around hands, forearms, and shoulders, slicing into freshly marred backs.

Sylzenya’s own scar along ached as she stood—watching. The High One had asked her to assist the Kreenas that morning since the kingdom-wide banquet would be tonight. He told her that, although her power was gone, her presence would provide stability.

A sense of normalcy.

Yet nothing felt normal.

Aretta’s Willow continued appearing in her dreams, its crystallized trunk and limbs streaming with her goddess’ power. The bird, the compass, the gold ring—they haunted her, causing her to wake in fits, drenched in sweat. She ignored it; all of it.

Normal.

Everything needed to go back to normal.

Hands laced together, her fingernails cut into her skin, a drop of blood running down her lightly tanned hands the same way Nyla’s back bled as she created her fourth plum tree of the day. As Nyla focused on their goddess’ power, Sylzenya stepped forward, picking one of the swollen fruits off the branch, swiping her thumb up and over its soft skin.

“Well?” Nyla asked, sweat shining on her pale skin while her disheveled black hair covered her eyes, “Does this one taste right?”

Sylzenya sank her teeth into the plum. Tart and sweet, the stone fruit’s juice dripped down her chin, staining her skin a reddish purple. It was far better than the other three, which were either too sour or painstakingly bland.

“I’m impressed,” Sylzenya replied, “I might even say it’s delicious.”

Nyla laughed, her smile mixed with an unmistakable look of pain.

“If you could tell the High One, I’d fancy myself a break.”

“You’re a Kreena now,” Sylzenya replied, “you’re free to rest as you find fit.”

“ Sure I can,” she said through strained breaths.

“You need to take care of yourself, Nyla. He knows that.”

“Look, you might be here because you enjoy the traditions, the rituals, and everything else we’re asked to do, but you know why I’m here.”

Sylzenya paused. “I thought your aunt’s shop was doing better?”

“Just because she’s doing better doesn’t mean she can suddenly afford the crops she needs for her shop to make ends meet,” Nyla grunted. “So, if you can put in a word for me with the High One, I’d appreciate it.”

Her friend let out a long breath as she broke her palms from the ground, golden light retreating into the soil as the plum tree’s growth stunted. She clawed through the dirt and grabbed the now yellow orodyte. As her friend stored the stone in her pocket and drank greedily from her waterskin, Sylzenya took another bite of the plum, uncertain what she could possibly say to provide comfort.

With her power gone, there wasn’t much to offer. The thought sliced through her deeper than her Kreena cut. Pain was a small price for the wellbeing of their people, and while her friend and companions still offered their power sacrificially, all Sylzenya could do was stand and watch.

Helpless.

She blinked away the tears forming in her eyes.

“If you’re headed towards the healing baths, I’ll join you,” Sylzenya said as she helped Nyla to her feet, “My back hasn’t healed properly since…”

Her throat closed, unable to say those final words.

“Since the rite,” Nyla finished, dipping her brows.

Sylzenya brushed at her robe. “Whenever it’s about to scab over, it breaks open again. It’s not bleeding enough to be a true concern, but even the medicines the infirmary gave me haven’t been able to help.”

“I didn’t know orodyte serum could prevent natural healing like that.” Nyla paused, leveling her gaze, “I still don’t understand why your father did it.”

Mouth thinned, Sylzenya didn’t respond.

Silence spanned between them as they walked along the dirt path towards the temple.

“Are you…” Nyla took a deep breath, “Are you going to visit your parents? In the dungeons? I’m sure the High One would let you if you want answers.”

“ If is the important part of that question.”

Nyla frowned. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because I don’t want to see them.”

“Syl, they’re your parents. There must’ve been some twisted reason behind this inane act.”

“They’re unwell. Delirious. Deranged . I believe those are the words you’re looking for,” Sylzenya replied, fingers digging into the plum, piercing through its skin into its soft flesh.

“Whatever it was they tried to do, it didn’t work, praise Aretta that the High One found your cure.” She patted her shoulder. “A true miracle.”

Sylzenya’s spine tightened at her words. She hadn’t told anyone, not even Nyla, about how he hadn’t found a cure, but was finding one. While a part of her ached to tell her—for someone to know how deeply this emptiness consumed her—Sylzenya reminded herself it wouldn’t be long before she was on the mend. The High One had promised to have it ready soon, and she trusted him. No need to cause panic for anyone, especially her closest friend.

Nyla continued, “If you’re certain it wasn’t out of some misplaced sense of love, then why not go get answers?”

Rolling the sticky plum in her hand, Sylzenya stopped walking. “It wouldn’t change anything. The damage has been done, and seeing them would only cause me unnecessary grief.”

She turned to Nyla. Her friend’s face faltered, hands deep in her robe’s pockets as she nodded her head, gaze averting to the dirt.

“I don’t want answers from them. I just want my connection to Aretta restored, and things to go back to the way they were.”

Nyla let out a long breath, her hands fiddling with her robe. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Sylzenya’s eyes widened, worried Nyla might have guessed the High One’s cure was untrue.

Frantic, Sylzenya said, “The High One’s cure is working?—”

“No, not that.” She turned, her amber gaze piercing. “Syl, before the rite, no one outside of the temple knew your power was strong enough to sustain our entire kingdom. And yet, it was you, of all Kreenas, who was sabotaged.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “The High One’s requested each Kreena be monitored tonight, but not by a priestess like usual, by Dynameis. He’s asked them to wear their full uniforms—swords, shields, orodytes…”

Sylzenya’s stomach soured.

Nyla continued, “Nothing’s going to be the same after this.”

Mouth open, Sylzenya found herself at a loss for words. She’d been so focused on gaining her power back, she hadn’t considered the implications of her parent’s sabotage. It wasn’t just an act against herself—it was an act that called something else into question.

Were there others who would’ve jeopardized their own people?

And if so, why ?

A scuffing of dirt and metal interrupted her thoughts.

Men in green and brown leather armor entered the willow grove, each of the Dynameis wearing an orodyte on their chest plate. All of their stone’s impurities had been depleted, each of them clear as crystal.

Nyla sighed. “Seems the Dynameis are here to boast of their latest adventures.”

“Oh please, you love hearing about the monsters in Lhaal. Besides, they’re only here to exchange their orodyte,” Sylzenya said. “ Then they’ll talk for hours about their adventures.”

“Just because the forest interests me doesn’t mean I want to hear them boast for an eternity,” she said, “And just when I was hoping to get a break.”

Sylzenya rolled her shoulders back as two Dynamies approached. She recognized them, one with black hair and golden skin, the other with long red hair and a pale complexion covered with endless freckles.

Nyla’s face flushed while Sylzenya cursed under her breath.

“Morning, Nyla,” Marlo, the Dynami with black hair, greeted. “And you as well, Sylzenya. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Sylzenya smiled with everything but her eyes, while Nyla crossed her arms.

“It has,” Nyla replied, “seems you two have been busy. Are days like this ideal for swinging swords at monsters?”

“Fancy you say such things, because we did just get back from a mission in the forest.” Westley, the Dynami with red hair, said with a broad smile.

“You don’t say?” Sylzenya said, looking at the blood and gashes on their arms, “I would’ve never known.”

“Not a fault of yours by any means,” Westley replied, “We know living life in the temple must be limiting in your understanding of what happens outside of it. Perhaps, one day, we might be able to convince the High One to let you leave these grounds and experience something… a bit different.”

In your dreams, Westley.

Memories of their night together three years prior flashed through Sylzenya’s mind. Sweat-stained skin, clumsy touches, and a naivete she wished she could forget. Despite the celibacy law for both Kreenas and Dynameis, it was rarely followed. It’d been the first and only time she’d done anything outside of the High One’s rules, an experience Nyla had convinced her needed to happen at some point to “get it out of the way.” When Sylzenya had returned that night, she promptly decided she preferred the rule, which is why she’d denied Westley’s advances ever since.

Whenever she found pleasure, it would be by her own hand, which proved far more skilled. So, despite Sylzenya’s instinct to throw her disheveled plum at the Dynami’s oversized head, she smiled.

“Afraid we’re rather busy nowadays,” she replied.

Westley’s confident demeanor faltered. Sylzenya took another bite of plum.

“Anyways,” Marlo interrupted— thank gods , “Do either of you have any fresh orodyte we might be able to take off your hands? Ours have run dry.”

He revealed two pieces of clear stone, a myriad of colors reflecting in the soft sunshine.

“You ran out of both ?” Nyla asked, reaching into her robe’s pockets, which Sylzenya knew held four pieces of glowing orodyte.

“We went up against an ichthys,” Marlo replied, “nearly lost one of our newest recruits to it.”

Marlo looked at Sylzenya and Nyla expectantly.

“Never heard of an ichthys,” Sylzenya finally said.

“You don’t know what an ichthys is?” Westley asked. “By the gods, it’s only one of Lhaal’s most deadly creatures. Surely even Kreenas know that.”

“Then how’d you manage to escape it?” Sylzenya asked, a genuine question, yet she knew her tone would cause Westley to bristle.

It worked.

Marlo replied, “An ichthys is an aquatic creature invisible to the naked eye. They’re the rarest in Lhaal, but not extinct by any means. Westley and I hadn’t encountered one before. We were just filling our waterskins at a pond when someone pointed out a strange black cloud in the water, but one of our recruits had already drunk his fill.”

“Dying by infected water sounds like a rather unimpressive way to die in that place,” Nyla said, pulling out two of the glowing orodytes.

Nyla offered two of her orodytes, keeping her other two in her pocket, sticking to the Kreenas’ codes of creation. If Dynameis seek to exchange their orodyte during their shifts, Kreenas may offer half of the orodyte stones they filled. The other half must be brought to the temple to be distributed fairly amongst the warriors.

“Oh, no, the ichthys’ poison doesn’t kill you,” Marlo said, accepting one of the stones. “It controls you.”

Sylzenya and Nyla stilled.

Westley took the other piece. “It’s true. The ichthys secretes a toxin into the water, and you don’t even have to drink it to be infected. If it gets in your mouth, eyes, what have you, then the ichthys has control over your whole self. Mind, body—even soul.”

“It took control of the recruit’s mind, manipulating him against us,” Marlo added, “even used his orodyte to access Aretta’s power through him. I didn’t know they could do that.”

“And you didn’t end up killing him?” Nyla questioned.

“Didn’t have to. The ichthys loses its invisible quality when it possesses another, and so I was able to find it in its watering hole and spear it through the gills with my sword.” Marlo raised his longsword, stained in black blood. “Once the ichthys is dead, its control over its subject is broken. It was a nasty battle, though. Those monsters are slippery things, and it took me a while to find its gills. I had to use power from both of my orodytes to finally kill it.”

“And where were you in all of this, Westley?” Sylzenya asked.

His earlier intrigue in her had clearly depleted as he replied, “Keeping the recruit from killing everyone.”

“And you only saw it because of the water changing color?” Nyla asked.

“Like I said, we were lucky,” Marlo replied, “I’d only heard rumors of its true appearance, but they barely did it justice. It looked like a large fish without fins, and had sharper teeth than a serpentum’s fang.”

Westley added, “Distrathrus’ creatures are far more than just armored skin and hulking strength.”

The grove fell silent at the mention of the god’s name. So rarely did anyone utter it. The name was like a distant curse, one that had almost taken Estea in its monstrous claws centuries ago.

“Praise Aretta for ending him when she did,” Sylzenya replied, “Who knows what other monstrosities he would’ve created in that forest.”

All of them echoed the prayer.

“Well, Nyla and Sylzenya, we’re grateful for the orodyte. I’m sure we’ll be able to utilize its impurities to slay a serpentum or arachni on our next mission. Maybe even an ichthys,” Marlo said, a broad smile on his face, “Perhaps we’ll see you later tonight at the banquet?”

His eyes shimmered as he locked his gaze with Nyla’s. Sylzenya didn’t miss the rush of red blooming on her friend’s face.

“I’m certain we will,” Nyla replied, looping her arm through hers.

The men bowed again, Marlo staring at Nyla, Westley’s eyes trained on Sylzenya. Without another word, Sylzenya turned and led Nyla towards the temple, leaving the other Dynameis and Kreenas to exchange orodytes, stories of Lhaal Forest and, perhaps, fleeting glances with unspoken promises.

“I swear on Aretta’s blood, if you fall for that little act of his, I’ll have to lock you in the temple until your mind is washed clean,” Sylzenya whispered as they left the grove.

Nyla laughed. “A little playful talk and suddenly you assume I’m swayed into his affections?”

“You know why he was talking to you like that, don’t you?”

“He’s a man with a sword. His reasons are obvious enough.”

They approached the temple, its sandstone walls reaching to the sky, curving into a dome made of stained-glass. The guards opened the doors, the crisp scent of rosewater fresh and light as their bare feet slapped against the marble floor.

“Just have some fun tonight, Syl. You deserve it after everything that’s happened.”

Sylzenya shook her head. “I wouldn’t say time spent with Westley is fun .”

“Then find someone else. You’re the most powerful Kreena in all of Est?—”

“ Was ,” she corrected.

“Are going to be again ,” Nyla said, “All I’m saying is that you could choose any Dynami, and they’d be more than happy to… swap orodyte.”

They stopped at a wall made of dark ivy, pulling aside the vines to reveal a dark, damp room with a single torch.

Sylzenya’s brows rose to her hairline. “You think other Dynameis want my orodyte?”

“Oh, I know they want your orodyte.”

Furrowing her brows, Sylzenya stared at her friend. Nyla opened the gold door to the sanctuary of Aretta’s healing waters. Steam assaulted them, filling her lungs as the warm layer of water met her cold feet.

“My orodyte isn’t any different from yours, let alone other Kreenas’,” Sylzenya argued as she stripped, the back of her white robe damp with blood. She hung the cloth on a thorned vine draping the wall.

“It is to them,” Nyla said.

“Then they’re painfully simple-minded.”

“Alas, the fault of men with swords.”

Their laughter echoed along the sandstone walls as they stepped into the large circular pool. Despite the heavy steam, the faint golden light from the water pulsed as it always did, the intricate tiles lining the pool’s floor depicting a willow, matching the yellow stained-glass stretched across the ceiling.

Every nerve of pain in her back melted away as if a swath of mint salve had been rubbed into her skin. She let out a low moan. The pool had been blessed by Aretta centuries ago—the last source of healing magic—weak, but effective enough for Kreenas’ bleeding backs.

Purpose surged in her limbs as she slowly submerged herself. Perhaps they wouldn’t need the pool if Sylzenya could find Aretta’s Willow—a tree capable of healing every ailment.

“Syl, will you at least consider what I said earlier?” Nyla asked, her face lost in the glowing steam.

“About giving away my orodyte?” Sylzenya replied, a small laugh on her lips.

“No, not the orodyte,” Nyla strained.

Her laughter faded. “Once I’m cured, I’ll consider confronting my parents, but for now,” she sunk lower into the pool, “I just need to survive this banquet.”

“Fair enough,” her friend replied. “But also, don’t give your orodyte to another idiot like Westley.”

Sylzenya’s smile slackened as she stared at the glowing water, considering the words Nyla had shared earlier, hating the truth it called forward— nothing’s going to be the same after this. Even if she regained her power, life would look different. More guards, more protection, more uncertainty… acolytes and Kreenas wouldn’t be able to live in peace, and neither would her people.

Suddenly, her eyes brightened and her heartbeat quickened.

Even if the High One’s cure worked, having Aretta’s Willow’s location could prove invaluable. It could heal, yes, but perhaps it could do more—perhaps it could provide power for Kreenas besides herself. It could heal them quicker than these waters, they could make more food than ever before, and the famine would cease to be a threat. Perhaps it could even provide more strength for the Dynameis, allow their orodytes to last longer, and give them abilities to avoid mind-controlling monsters like the ichthys.

Perhaps if the vision had been right and she found Aretta’s Willow, Estea could have more than just hope—her kingdom could have a future.

She needed to tell the High One about her vision.