Chapter 1
In the back of the temple, near the healer’s work area, is a rather plain storeroom. It is dim and cool inside, the thick stone walls doing their quiet duty against the day’s heat. A single row of high, narrow windows near the top of the wall allows light to enter. In the center of the room stands an ordinary infirmary bed, holding a figure swaddled in oddly colored bandages, best described as the regretful color of ocher-tinged riverbank mud.
The mummy-like wrappings obscure the figure and the extent of the injuries. The figure has been burned almost to the point of being unrecognizable, making it unclear which race the figure represents, whether it is an orc, elf, human, or otherwise, and even its specific gender. Clustered around the head of the bed are priests and clerics, dressed in their Temple regalia.
A small portable altar has been set up. Temple incense fills the air as censors swing. Their sonorous chanting soothes the figure in the bed. The less senior members of the group remain focused on the figure in the bed while others confer among themselves. A few glance at the Goddess, who stands, partially manifested and semi-transparent, off to one side. Her partial manifestation is meant to spare them from seeing her in her full power.
Facing a god, any god, fully manifested, has been known to drive mortals to madness. Finally, one of the clerics speaks, “She should be waking up any moment now.” The Goddess makes her way through the gathering and crouches at the bedside, waiting. The girl wakes to find the Goddess herself crouched down and watching her intently. “Good,” the voice ripples through her thoughts soothingly, “it seems you might be awake for a bit. Would you mind stating for the priests what our agreement was?”
“We agreed,” she says with difficulty in a gravelly, raspy voice she doesn’t recognize as her own, “that I would take my oaths as one of your paladins as soon as I am able and that as soon as you think I am fit enough, we would attempt the Test of Pain. If I pass the Test of Pain, I will join your Four. Otherwise, I will remain a paladin in your service. You agreed to amend my oaths to allow me to remove myself from your service in the event you go insane or become evil.”
At this last bit, there is a big stir and a lot of muttering among the priests. The girl in the bed drops back into insensibility. “Are you sure that a single person is worth all of this effort? All these resources?” one of the priests demands. “Who ever heard of a paladin making such a demand from their patron deity?” another priest grumbles. “What a lot of nerve! Such impudence! Are you certain that you want that kind of trouble?” a third priest says, shocked.
“Definitely,” the Goddess responds firmly, “She is the most promising candidate I have come across in a very long time, possibly ever.” There are murmured arguments among the priests. A few had hoped to get a child or grandchild included in the Choosing to increase their standing in the Temple. A few more had hopes that a family member would be included in the Four. A fourth priest chimes in, “At least the screaming has stopped. I thought we were going to drive her mad.”
“I thought that she was going to think we were torturing her. Thank the Goddess that Davilla finally found something that stopped her pain,” a fifth priest adds. While the priests are conferring, an older man makes his way through the other priests so that he can stand, leaning heavily on his cane, next to the Goddess. While the others are occupied, he says quietly, “I have a suspicion as to who lies in our temple. We know that some of the former paladins of Rigan found a way to free themselves of his service through some bizarre edict he issued. I rather suspect that this person you have here is one of the Renunciates.”
“Gethin,” the Goddess acknowledges, “I should have known that you would see the truth of it. And see how remarkable she is to have survived it.” “I’m not so sure that I would call this surviving it,” Gethin answers back, gesturing at the bed, “but if that’s who I think it is, that’s Melfyn ferch Ardan ap Draig’s granddaughter.” Gethin senses the intense curiosity from the Goddess, so he continues, “Melfyn was one of the finest generals that the Cymry ever produced. I knew him when we were young, long before I came to your service.”
The Goddess gets a flash of mental images of two boys fishing, two boys chasing each other around with wooden swords, two boys climbing an apple tree for the last fall apples. “When I was too injured to compete in the annual trials, I came here to the Temple,” Gethin sighs, “but we stayed friends. We were close again once his wife, Sian, passed. Like all boys, we had a falling out over a girl.” The Goddess gets a mental image of a beautiful, but heavily tattooed blonde woman who is likely this girl’s grandmother.
“Sian was… beautiful,” Gethin says slowly, “We both wanted her, but when I couldn’t compete anymore, Sian chose Melfyn. Melfyn said his granddaughter takes after Sian. I doubt she’s even of marriageable age. She was one of the middle ones, so there’s no way she’s twenty yet. Melfyn told me she was independent and the most promising of all her siblings. He was proud of her for becoming a paladin and increasing both her status and that of her House. She always placed well in the annual trials. They even had an offer for a bride-price for her. It was a Ban Gwyr offer. It took four boys to raise the sum they offered for her, and even then, they got rejected.”
“I thought your people normally did dowries,” the Goddess probes. “We do,” Gethin agrees, “but because she had such promise and had increased her status so much, she was getting offers for a bride price instead of a dowry. Ban Gwyr offers might be made to one girl in a generation. More like once in five generations, if then.”
“So, what is your opinion about all of this?” the Goddess asks. “Since you asked,” Gethin chuckles, “If you can save her life, she may well become the most remarkable paladin ever to serve you. I think you were right to at least try. If Melfyn’s assessment of her was even half right, she is going to be remarkable. Under Cymry law, she is still mostly a child. If this is what she’s capable of now, as a child.... Imagine what she will be capable of in a decade or so. I also know that Melfyn said she could be mouthy and difficult when her temper’s up.” Chuckling in agreement, the Goddess replays a bit of her initial encounter with the swaddled figure in the bed.
The mental image that comes is of a place bathed in white light, and where everything seems to be lit from within. Bloody shackles are hanging from the wall, and on the floor is something that is almost not human, but it’s clutching a blade in either hand. “Another buggering god,” the figure spits, “Well I’m not rolling over for you. Get on with it then. Then you can go find your brother and make a replacement for that asshat.”
“If you will let me, I will take you into my service.” “Your service,” the shredded, burnt figure snorts, “You really are all inbred lunatics. Why don’t you go grow a dick so you can shove it up your own ass? Leave me be and let me die in peace.” “Let me help you. You are an orphan, and I would take you as a daughter into my house.” “Maybe you can find a troop of monkeys who can run a train for you. There is not,” the wretched figure sighs, “enough left of me to eliminate yet another inbred lunatic deity. Rigan’s been quite enough, thanks. I’m done with gods. The whole sodding lot of you. Instead of bothering me while I try to die with some shred of dignity, isn’t there a donkey somewhere you can give a hand job? Isn’t that the sort of thing your lot goes in for?”
Still not put off by the obscenity or the hostility, patiently the Goddess gathers her skirts and crouches next to the figure, “You prayed to any who would listen for aid. I have heard your plea for aid in a battle in a just cause. I have not seen such a just cause in eons. You have wrought well for mortals, all of you. I will say this again. You are an orphan, and I would take you as a daughter into my house. One of my aspects has been lost in battle. Normally, there is a Choosing, but I can think of no sterner tests than the ones you have already passed. The only thing that remains now is for you to pass the Test of Pain. I must see if you are a fit vessel for my power. If you wish, I will amend your oaths both as my paladin and as one of my Chosen so that you can remove yourself from my service in the event you feel I have become evil or gone insane. If you want to live, let me help you. If you give me your word that you will take the oaths when you are able, then I will trust your honor for the rest.”
The shared vision cuts off, and Gethin roars with mental laughter, “Gods! Melfyn might have underestimated her. Burnt and shredded and still willing to fight. I am surprised that she is still on this side of the veil.” “Davilla’s poultice has been instrumental in that. We will need to handle that very carefully. The p’zae by itself is addictive enough, as are the datura, badu tree sap, and wingè fruit… Together, while it’s a blessing for her now, it may well become a curse to her. Her burns have stopped getting infected, and she’s stopped screaming and thrashing. Now we can begin incrementally healing her and start weaning her off that poultice. The good news is that we haven’t had to resurrect her yet again for a few days.”
“Gods and martyrs,” Gethin grimaces. “Yes,” the Goddess replies, “apparently the internal injuries were so severe that even after being resurrected so many times I’ve lost count, she still looks like that. She should, by any estimation, have passed beyond even my power. Yet she has not, and each time they ask her, she insists that she wants to live, so we go on.”
Over the murmur of the conferring priests, someone roars, “How dare she demand to have the oaths amended? Why would we want someone to join us as one of the Four who has already insulted our Goddess? Let us hold the Choosing and be done with it.” The Goddess frowns at the priests, who promptly go quiet, sensing her displeasure. “I told you she’s been through a lot. I had to...negotiate a bit to get her to agree,” the Goddess says, waving a hand at the swaddled figure. “She is in this state because she fought a battle in a just cause. I already know that she has an innate affinity for my power, or I could not have healed her enough to bring her here. Now, stop all this about having another Choosing. You have heard my will in this. I have her promise that she will take the oaths as soon as she is able. I trust you will see to whatever she needs.”
Grumbling among themselves, the priests and clerics make their way out, except for those who remain to continue tending the figure in the bed. Gethin makes his way over to the bed and lays a gentle hand on her as he whispers the words of a blessing. The blue aura of the blessing rolls across her, and her sleep seems to quieten a bit.
