Following Signs

Siral leaned out of his bedroom window and into the muggy air of the summer evening. There were storm clouds on every horizon, but the sky over the temple of Ru-Urven was clear, the stars just beginning to come out from their daylight hiding places behind the sun. Taking a deep breath, Siral shut his eyes and listened to the hushed murmur of the city and the rumble of thunder in the far distance. The air was heady with the magic keeping weather at bay over the holy city, and Siral took it in with each breath, gathering and storing what power he could within his spirit. He would need it tonight.

"Master, come, I must dress you." His servant's hand pulled nervously at his plain, white under-tunic, and reluctantly Siral let her draw him away and shut the window, making the stuffiness of the room complete. I hate the summer, he thought sulkily, feeling as if even his horn were sweating.

As he stood still and quiet, the young woman Heysa, his personal servant and handmaiden now for three years to the day, slipped the heavy, glittering robes of an initiate priest-prince over his shoulders, embroidered with thread of silver and set with jewels along the hem, and straightened the line of his under-tunic's against his throat. He shut his eyes as she anointed his forehead, the top of his chest, and his wrists with a touch of perfume, smelling sharply of the purple star-flowers that grew outside the city. She drew back his pale, curly hair under a circled of iridescent irivanee, the rarest of metals. The weight of a winged collar of the same, set with smoky moonstones and sparkling opals, settled on his shoulders.

As Heysa slipped rings onto his fingers, Siral thought about the ceremony of star-naming, tonight's ritual and the very first Siral would preside over, without being second to his father. He was only eighteen, a young age, too young, he had been told, to fully understand the mysteries of the rituals. His father had disagreed, and since he was the high priest and brother to the emperor, his words were heeded. Siral had attended the star-naming every third year since he was nine, but he had never been allowed to participate, to even mouth the beautiful, ancient words, certainly not to hold a piece of Ru-Urven, the Star God, the greatest of all gods, though he had longed to. Until tonight. Tonight, with the star-naming, he would finally be dedicated as a full priest to and under the eyes of Ru-Urven.

Startled by the chill touch of irivanee to his single, delicately veined horn, Siral jerked, and the ring Heysa was trying to fix there scratched along the thin, tender kin, drawing a faint line of blood. Without thinking, Siral lashed out with a beringed hand, catching the maid across the cheek. Stunned and bleeding, she fell back with a whimper, and Siral was suddenly sorry. Blushingu under the pale shine of his skin, he took her hands and draw her back to her feet. He tried to be a good master to her, for she was faithful, but Ru-Urven knew Siral had a temper....

"Forgive me," he murmured, but she dropped her eyes from his, holding her sleve to her gashed cheek.

"There is nothing to forgive, Master," she whispered, but he moved gently to touch his fingers to the wound, and undid the damage he had caused. For a moment she was still, eyes on the floor, and Siral thought he saw tears hovering about her thick lashes, but then she looked up and the tears were gone. "You should not waste your magic on me," she said, her voice unsteady, "You have need of it for the ceremony."

"I can spare that much," Siral answered and, reminded of what he was to do, meekly let her finish dressing him with jewels and stepped into the silver sandals she placed on the floor for him. By the time she had slipped into her own pale festival robes, appropriate for the first servant of the high priest's heir, and Natay, his ceremonial guard, came to bring him to the temple itself, his thoughts were immersed in preparations for the ritual.

As the small procession of priest, servant, and the guards brought by Natay stepped out of Siral's rooms and into the hallway, the priest-to-be was distracted by something he could not name. He paused, blinking, in a sudden darkness that made his skin crawl and made his tail twitch beneath the heavy robes. Natay stared at him impatiently, and he continued on again. Nerves, he thought, I'm just nervous and imagining things. Father always did say I have too strong an imagination for my own good.

But the darkness persisted, hovered about his senses like a cloud that blotted out the starlight. It circled the temple, fed by the waiting crowd, twining about the stiff form of Natay and the hunched form of Heysa to either side of him, seeping through his skin and veiling his vision. He felt as though he were groping through the starless night, trying to follow the memory of a path he should know as well as himself. It frightened him, but he could not stop now: the steps of the temple stood before him and Natay was already climbing.

The wide, shallow stair was lined with silent watchers, come to see the dedication of their priest-prince. First, the lower castes, with their poor adornments on three and four horns, laborers and craftsmen, so thick that he could not see past them to the carved railing beyond, not allowed closer to the holiest place when there were higher castes yet to come. Then, the warriors and scholars with their weapons and books and two horns with spare but elegant jewels, among them people he had learned from and spoken to and people he had never seen before and likely would never see again. Finally, on the topmost steps, the highest and smallest castes of the nobility and priesthood, richly gowned and bejeweled, tails decked with ribbons and rings, single horns proudly displayed by jewelry and style of hair. Siral followed Natay past them all, coldly beautiful and full of the darkness that only grew the closer he moved towards the seat of Ru-Urven himself, Lord of the Sky and Maker of Light.

At the massive, carved-cirge throne, engraved with designs and words in the holy tongue, the darkness lifted a little in the clear, dim light that seemed to emanate from within the frosty stone, but when Siral turned to face the gathered citizens of the holy city, shadow fell again and his smile felt frozen on his face. The gathered people filled in the spaces where he had passed, more pressing in from the courtyard now that there was more room for them. They touched fingers and bare toes to the places where they believed he had steps, hoping to catch a little bit of the magic that was rumored to simply emanate from the young priest-prince. Heysa arranged the trailing robe at his feet before bowing back to join the serving priests flanking the throne, disappearing into the shadows that wanted to swallow everything.

Staring out over the people, Siral thought, This is wrong... It has to be. Father never said it was like this-- Ru-Urven brings light, not darkness. He isn't here, he can't be. But something else is....

"Ru-Urven, help me," he whispered, thoughts full of legends of darker gods, and sat down carefully on the throne. The ground rumbled ominously, light flickered in the back of his mind and went out again, and the clouds were rolling closer, threatening to block out the stars. There was a murmur from the crowd, but it fell silent quickly as Siral held up a hand, though that hand trembled faintly.

Something's going to happen, I know it, oh, Ru-Urven, why me, why now--

Son? Are you all right? The coil of his father's thoughts calmed him some.

Yes, he answered. The clouds are just very dark....

I know, Dedani thought at him. Just get through this, quickly, before the stars disappear....

But they already have, Siral thought, unable to see them through the darkness, but this time kept it to himself. They had a ceremony to perform, a magic to carry out, before he could retire as a priest of Ru-Urven. He wouldn't let a little darkness frighten him out of his deepest desire.

But as he opened his mouth to begin the words, the sky exploded and rained fire, and the ritual was ruined.