Annev stood on the raised dais at the front of the chapel with the altar behind him and Yohan’s lavender-scented candles burning to either side of him. Over his greige acolyte clothes he wore vestments tied with a grey belt. The robes themselves were a deep shade of blue which had been gradually bleached so that it faded to a stark white. As a final touch, Annev was wearing the bright red phoenix glove on his left hand. Sodar had initially questioned the wisdom of that decision – and speculated about the glove’s origin – but when Annev had met his disapproval with silence the priest had relented.
Annev watched the sun set through the open door of the chapel as the last villagers entered, then he lifted a silver-painted staff aloft with both hands and chanted.
‘Lord of Heavens, God above. Lord of Waters, God below. Hear our prayers.’
‘Hear our prayers,’ the congregants chanted in unison.
Annev thumped the butt of the staff once on the ground and held it aloft again. ‘Give us breath that we may breathe,’ he prayed. ‘Give us water that we may drink. Give us knowledge that we may know thee. Creator of the skies and the seas. God of Quaire. God of Skywater. Steward of our Souls and Keeper of our Secrets, hear our prayers.’
‘Hear our prayers,’ the congregation repeated.
Annev thumped the staff on the ground twice more and strode to the left side of the dais just as a group of ancients led by Elder Tosan – in his best red-and-black robes, the cuffs and collar trimmed with black ermine fur – arrived and began to push through the crowd towards the empty benches.
Myjun followed her father. Black satin slashed her red silk dress and a slender silver chain hung about her neck. At the end of the chain, hanging just above her modest neckline, was a tiny silver rod, a symbol of the Staff of Odar.
Tosan took the first bench. Myjun sat beside him. The other ancients shuffled behind Tosan and took their seats.
‘Odar, All-father,’ Annev continued, ‘Lord of Wind and Air and Sea, we thank thee for the waters that cleanse us and the holy spirit that lifts us up. Forgive us our trespasses against God and man.’ Annev’s gaze drifted to Tosan, who was staring resolutely forward, and then his eyes flitted to Myjun.
‘And lead us not into temptation,’ Annev continued.
A shy smile crept onto Myjun’s face and he felt himself smiling back until he glanced at Tosan and found his eyes locking with those of the Eldest of Ancients. Myjun’s father folded his arms and raised both eyebrows.
‘Hear our prayers,’ Annev said quickly.
‘Hear our prayers,’ Tosan and Myjun chorused with the rest of the villagers.
Annev stepped back, thumping the staff three times in front of him. As he reached the back of the dais and turned around, he stole one last glance at Myjun and almost tripped over his own feet. He stumbled, teetering for a moment at the edge of the raised dais. Just as he felt his weight tip backward, a hand reached out and steadied him. Annev looked back and saw Sodar standing behind him.
‘Sorry,’ Annev whispered, his feet shifting away from the precipice. He handed the silver staff to the old priest.
On many nights Sodar wore robes embroidered with symbols that represented the unknowable depths of the ocean. Tonight, his robes were night blue, almost black, and speckled with pale yellow stars meant to signify the vastness of Odar’s knowledge. The priest’s attire included a matching pointed cap with small white lightning bolts, signifying the potency of Odar’s celestial power.
‘Keep your mind on the job,’ Sodar whispered back without moving his lips.
Annev’s cheeks reddened and he sidestepped to his chair at the back of the dais. When he sat down to face the villagers, he made a point of not looking in Myjun’s direction, which was difficult, as the young woman and her father were sitting directly in front of him.
Sodar lifted the staff high above his head and thumped it three times on the platform beneath his feet. He waited. Those villagers who had talked through Annev’s opening benediction finally stopped and the hall fell silent. Sodar held the staff in front of him and peered out over the congregation.
‘Brothers and sisters,’ he intoned after a long moment of silence. ‘Ancients and Masters of the Academy. Thank you for worshipping with us on this Seventhday, the first night of our three-day celebration of Regaleus.
‘According to tradition, this celebration marks the five thousand and seventeenth anniversary of the day that Myahlai was cast out of Luquatra, and the four thousand nine hundred and seventeenth anniversary of the first Regaleus, which we mark with gift-giving. It is said, of course, that great mischief comes from giving gifts – though we speak in reverence of the first gifts, of the staff that Odar received and which Keos later cursed.’ As he spoke, Sodar made his way to the centre of the dais and placed the silver staff atop the altar.
‘We also remember how Odar made the Oracle, a being of pure quaire; how Lumea made the sprites, beings of pure lumen; and how Keos made Fyoldar, an abomination of pure t’rasang that preyed upon Odar and Lumea’s worshippers for four hundred years. The Book of Odar calls this dark time the Fall of Keos, which only ended with the Breaking of the Hand of Keos.
‘We remember all of this at Regaleus, but with the passing of ages it is possible for history to give way to legend, and legend to myth, until it is no longer clear what is true and what is merely a story.’
Annev’s ears perked up. He’s diverting from the usual Regaleus recitation … Why?
Sodar beckoned Annev forward. On cue, Annev took the bound book of bronze sheets from beneath his chair and carried it to the priest. As he sat back down, he stole another glance at Myjun and their eyes met. He fought not to blush.
She was waiting for me to look at her. Or she’s been looking at me this whole time. Annev’s heart fluttered at the notion.
‘That is why we must constantly turn to scripture to remind us of the truth,’ Sodar said, lifting the thin stack of bronze plates for the crowd to see. ‘The Book of Odar holds many of these truths, including the creation of Luquatra, the Age of the Gods, the Age of Kings, the Age of Blood, and the Age of Peace. These truths have been passed down for thousands of years until the present day … but they have not reached us wholly pure.’ Sodar placed the book beside the staff on the altar.
Now he’s definitely left the script, Annev thought. Few things could have distracted him from Myjun’s attention that evening, but the unexpected direction of Sodar’s sermon was doing exactly that. What’s he playing at? Annev wondered.
‘For millennia, the priesthood has sorrowed for the destruction of Gorm Corsa, the razing of the library at Neven nan Su’ul, and the loss of our most sacred scriptures, histories and prophecies. Yet, against all odds, some of these records have been saved from destruction.’ Sodar turned and beckoned to his deacon. Annev stared at him, baffled by the priest’s gestures – and then he understood.
Odar’s beard … he wants the Speur Dún manuscript!
Annev leapt to his feet, still not sure he had guessed correctly. He took a half-step towards the rectory door and Sodar nodded. Annev swallowed a curse then trotted off the dais.