They swept her along in a rush. They pushed and pulled and cheered, blinding her with the colors of their robes. The Priestesses and monks and nuns swarmed around her like flies on spilled honey. Someone pressed a bottle of wine into her hand, others lifted her, carrying her above their heads, their hands pinching. She thought she heard Veshier say something, but he was drowned out in the din of their celebrating. She couldn’t hear him, but she could feel him. He worried for her. She didn’t understand why they took her away from him.

They sang hymns as they jostled her along to their temple. It was very different than the grand Temple, built of pale stone blocks, a pyramid shape largely open to the elements. No eternal spring, but humid summer, the air alive with buzzing insects and pyre flies flickering in the broad leafed trees. The air smelled hot and wet, a little sweet, like spoiled fruit.

The Priestesses here were so different, their skin sun brown, their teeth blackened like their monks. They wore brass rings around their wrists and necks which jingled musically. Their robes were all diaphanous and see-through, made of pale blue silks.

It all startled and upset her until it suddenly didn’t. Once inside the temple, lulled by the sweet incense and flicking torchlight, seduced by the smell of strange spices and fragrant foods, Linarra laughed as they carried her, drinking the wine, spilling it, which didn’t offend them, they only laughed with her.

They set her atop a pile of silk cushions, plied her with drink and smoke and food. It all bled together deliciously and she indulged. It was so good to eat and drink and rest, to be treated well. She didn’t recognize the wine or the meat or the spices in both, but they soothed every jagged edge and jangled nerve. The moment a plate was cleared, they brought another. She’d never even had the chance to drain her cup. They spoke to her, their language strange and unfamiliar but the words felt so kind and beautiful, like the song of the bright colored birds in the trees outside the temple.

By the time she saw and remembered Veshier, she was heavily intoxicated. She saw him, standing in the doorway of the temple, verdant, wild forest at his back. He didn’t drink or eat. Or smoke. He stood, stony faced, starving. Without thinking, she rose from her throne of cushions and threw her arms out to him. “Veshier!” she called, “Come eat! Sit!”

He was so worried for her and in her state, it touched her very deeply. Tears stung her eyes, her heart leapt. She wanted him. She wanted him so badly, she almost told him so, but the curl of his lip and set of his shoulders silenced her words. Not her feelings or longing. If only he’d come to her and hold her. Carry her away from the feast. Stung, Linarra flopped back down on the cushions.
The Priestesses leered at her, talking in their sing-song language, plucking at her cloak and ragged, stained robes. Were they trying to undress her? Shaking her head, she gently pushed their hands away.

“No...no...I can do it. Later,” she told them, but they either didn’t understand or they didn’t care.
When she looked at them, she noticed they were all undressing. “Veshier!” she cried out sharply, not in longing, but alarm. It was clear to her that they intended she join them. She didn’t want to. She didn’t feel well. They’d drugged her, she noted, even if she’d greedily gulped down the wine and smoked their herbs.

The interior of the temple became a smear of garish color as they tore at her clothes. Linarra tried, not so gently now, to bat their hands away, but there were too many, and she couldn’t see properly. “Please don’t!” she cried.

Now, she tried to cross her arms over her chest, to protect herself, to hide her nudity. Tears coursed down her cheeks, but they just laughed at her. Falling, she felt like she was falling, the cushions tumbling, wine spilling.

Veshier took her into his arms, kicking away anyone who tried to stop him. He took long strides, whisking her out of the room. “It’s the incense,” he said in her ear. “It’s a drug of some kind.”

She barely heard him and buried her face against his chest, breath heaving and hiccupping with sobs. Why had it all been so awful? Why hadn’t anyone said or done anything? Why would Liriel let this happen?

He took her into a copse of trees on the temple grounds, into a clear, cool pond. He walked them into it, all his clothes on, until the water came up to his chest. “This should clear your head,” he told her, his voice weary, but not at all unkind.

“I’m sorry,” she said, still unable to see clearly.

When she looked up into the twilight sky and canopy of trees, the stars moved, swimming in the sky like bright, little fishes. They blinked in and out, flaring and fading away. As the cool, clear water lapped at her skin, her vision cleared. They weren’t stars, but pyre flies, the little, glowing insects that frequented burial mounds.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured. “What happened? Why didn’t anyone tell me it would be like this?”

He hmm’d, she could feel it vibrate in his chest before it came out of his compressed lips. “I don’t know,” he admitted, sounding defeated, resigned.

“Why don’t the Priestesses say something when they return?” she half cried, tears running down her face. It all hurt so badly.

Veshier was quiet, measuring his words, she knew. Or maybe he didn’t know either, and they were both lost. Maybe it was all part of it, part of walking the Path itself. You weren’t supposed to know the trials and tribulations.

“The last two Initiates and their Guardians never returned,” he finally said.
His words felt like a physical blow to the stomach. She made a strangled sound, trying not to cry out. “Do you think-”

“I think they’re dead,” he answered her, sensing her question, likely through the bond.
“So...we’re really not meant to return,” she stated. It wasn’t a question.

“No. You weren’t ready, ill suited to become a Priestess. And me?” he snorted humorlessly. “Blind. Disgraced. We’re more valuable as martyrs, don’t you think? Heroically dying on the Path, deemed unworthy by the Mother. Failures. A good way to dispose of us.”

She felt cold all over, sick. “But we didn’t die, Veshier. We made it.”

He shook his head, gently swaying in the water, rocking her as though she were a baby. “Not -yet-. We’re not done. We have to go up the mountain. Who knows what waits?”

Veshier was right, she knew. Maybe they would face the Usurper himself, though Linarra was beginning to doubt if he even existed. If any of it was real. She’d not been exactly over burdened with faith as was.

Except, she had felt the presence of the Mother. She...had abilities. Even if they weren’t appreciated or wanted. There had to be -something-. This all couldn’t be a lie, could it?

Looking up at Veshier, she found his face close. He kissed her. In that moment, though it made little sense to her, she loved him. It felt as though she always had. When her feelings rose and bubbled in her chest like bright champagne bubbles, gold and bright, those feelings were answered by Veshier’s. He felt the same. He could act as though he didn’t care, but he did.

It could be the Bond. It probably was, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. All the world and all time faded into nothing in the face of that kiss.

Without meaning to, her eyes fluttered shut. It was all too much. Overburdened and troubled, Linarra shut down and fell into a fitful sleep. When she woke, she found herself nude under a thin blanket next to a crackling fire. Her clothes were hung on low tree branches. Veshier, head bowed, arms crossed over his chest, sat sleeping, back against a tree.

He must have undressed her, she thought, cheeks burning in embarrassment. She had to remind herself that he couldn’t -see-. But he could feel. Not that she thought he took any liberties. He must have been very careful and gentle so as not to wake her.

There was something almost freeing about their situation, she thought. They didn’t have to go back to the Temple. Everyone would assume they were dead anyway. They could go anywhere, across the sea even. What was the point of finishing the pilgrimage if it were doomed anyway?

Carefully, she wrapped the blanket around herself and dressed in her tattered, still damp clothes, tugging on her boots and peering into the hazy darkness beyond the campfire. She could hear jangling music and throbbing drums coming from the temple. They were still at it, still doing...whatever it was they were doing. They didn’t even care that she’d left.

She walked away from the fire, not very far, just enough to get away from the smoke and haze. The moon was nearly full, illuminating the Path up the mountain like a silver river. Peering over her shoulder, she watched Veshier sleep, his brow knotted over the cloth covering his eyes, his shoulders stooped. Even in sleep, she could feel how unhappy and stressed he was. How depressed. He didn’t blame her, he blamed himself. It was his brother’s disgrace, his disability.

Linarra wanted to shake him awake and tell him he was wrong. He’d been a perfect Guardian. He’d done everything he was supposed to do and despite everything, she wouldn’t want another in his place. If anyone was to blame for all of this, it was her.

It was her unfortunate abilities. Her shame. Her family couldn’t even look at her when they’d left her at the Temple. What she’d done...they hated her for it. Blamed her for everything. Linarra couldn’t fault them. She wished she could make it right somehow. For herself. For Veshier.

Once again, she looked at the Path, winding like a serpent up Mt. Hyn. The Usurper was there, sealed in stone forever. Sleeping until the Mother woke him or the world ended. The holy texts were never clear on which would come first.

“I’ll finish alone,” she whispered to the wind with one last look over her shoulder where Veshier slept fitfully.

He didn’t deserve this, to die. She wasn’t sure she deserved it either, but he had faith, he followed the rules. He never questioned. He would follow her to his doom without fail, without wavering. Linarra couldn’t and wouldn’t ask it of him. It was her burden to bear alone.

And she loved him. Now that a little distance separated her from the kiss in the clear pond, she wasn’t sure if he felt the same way. But she decided it didn’t matter. She’d save him.

She felt so strange as she walked. Every muscle should have been aching. Her feet, too. But she felt no pain. It was as though she glided over the ground, feet not quite touching the earth. It was like a beautiful dream, the mountain dark, rising from the misty ground, the path like a river of moonlight. The evening wind breathed over her skin, making her shiver a little, though not because she was cold, because it felt good, seductive, like an illicit touch from a secret lover.

While the Path looked steep, it wasn’t really, at least, she didn’t notice. She had no concept of time, just like in a dream. The world seemed to hold its breath as she made her way to the summit. All was sweet silence with just the wind hissing through the branches of the dead trees.
Linarra felt no pain, no discomfort, but not because it didn’t exist. Her feet bled, her muscles cramped, sometimes stopping her from walking. But nothing could snap her out of her trance. She swayed to a song only she could hear.

And when she felt tired, she closed her eyes. Her feet seemed to know the way, as though she had walked the Path a hundred times before. Linarra slept strangely as she walked. Drifting in and out. Her eyes fluttered open when she reached the mouth of a cave. A narrow opening, just big enough for a person to walk through, just a crack in the mountain. Should she go inside? Was she supposed to?

It didn’t matter, already her body twisted, her feet inching along, bringing her deeper inside the cave. She saw light up ahead, flickering. The air felt heavy, humid. It stunk.
It was the smell that woke her from her stupor like a slap in the face. As she stumbled out of the narrow opening into a cavern lit by torches, the stink made her gasp and gag.
Even in the dim light, Linarra could see everything. With her arm over her nose, her eyes widened in horror. The walls, the floor of the tall cavern, were slick with gore and blood. It squished underfoot and was the source of the rancid, rotten smell, like meat left in the sun to gather flies. Sickly sweet and spoiled.

A huge stone sat in the center of all the viscera and ring of torches, it towered ten feet in height at least. Before the stone was a low, crude altar. Blood pooled atop it and what she assumed was a human heart sat in the middle.

Veshier, she thought in a wild panic. Why wasn’t he with her? How had she gotten here? She could only vaguely remember starting out on the Path by herself, but she’d thought it a dream. Was this the fate of the other Initiates?

Frantic, she spun in a half circle, looking around the cavern. Though the torches were lit, it seemed she was alone. Whoever had done this, wasn’t there, but, she reasoned, could return at any moment.

Her entire body screamed in pain and was drenched in sweat. Her feet hurt so badly, she could scarcely walk. She needed to rest, just a moment, then she’d flee. She argued with herself. Whoever had done this could return any moment. There wasn’t time to rest.
But once again, she fell into a nearly dreamlike state, walking forward on what felt like knives. She reached out her hand.

The stone in the center. She -knew- what it was. She could feel it. Linarra could feel the Usurper slumbering inside. The hatred, malevolence, it seeped out of the stone like a cold wind, slithering over her arm, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking.

Stumbling forward, Linarra cried out, both in pain and fear. She wanted to leave. Leave and run until she saw the sea. Until the Temple and all of this were a pale memory. A low thudding pounded in her ears, like the beating of a heart, urging her forward.
Her fingers touched the stone. It was cold, colder than anything she’d ever touched. So cold it burned. When she tried to draw her fingers away, she found her limbs wouldn’t obey her.

With tears coursing down her cheeks, she cursed the name of the Usurper, though she didn’t know it. He was called many things, but never given a proper name. And just as she’d drawn power into herself, wild and electric, when she’d cast the demons out of hat girl, she did it again until her body vibrated and hummed.

The moment she was able to draw her hand away, the power exploded out of her, into the stone. The force of it threw her backwards, landing in the gore and muck hard enough to suck all the breath out of her.

Dazed, Linarra looked up at the towering stone. She heard it before she saw it, the cracking. It echoed in the chamber. Then she saw it, long black, jagged lines rupturing the stone. There was a beat, then the world exploded and all was darkness.