James Clemens - Shadowfall

Above the bench, a chandelier blazed with fist-sized bulbs; the glass globes held small drizzles of a fire god’s humour, burning brightly. Below, a crystal basin brimmed with water, its surface stirring in a constant whirlpool, blessed by a single tear from a god of water. And to either side rested the remaining two illuminaria: a small glass terrarium containing a full-grown, miniature oak tree, perfect down to its pin-sized acorns, and a lightning box that held a billowing cloud behind glass, flashing and roiling. They represented loam and air respectively. Each aspect was represented to verify the purity of the supplicant.

As Dart stood at the threshold, she sensed her doom. Even if she could somehow hide her shame from mortal eyes, the four illuminaria would reveal her corruption.

“Off with your clothes,” Matron Grannice said with a trace of impatience and boredom. “Pile them on the bed over there, then return to the bench and lie down.”

Dart undid her buttons with shaking fingers. “Mistress…” she began, sensing she might fare better if she revealed all now.

“Shush, Dart. Now is not the time to speak. Here comes Healer Paltry.”

The head of the Conclave’s healing caste entered through a back door. He was dressed in a simple robe of blue silk with a hatching of oak leaves around the collar. He was not a tall man, barely Dart’s own height. His eyes were the deepest blue. His hair, long to the shoulder, was as dark as any raven’s feather. Though barely thirty years past his birth, his skills in the Arts were known throughout Myrillia. It was said he even ministered to Chrism himself at the Grand Castillion. And here at the Conclave, there was many a girl who feigned fever or stomach churns just to be near him.

Even Matron Grannice tugged a loose strand of hair into place behind an ear, smoothing it down as he strode to them.

Though busy, Paltry still offered Dart a tired smile. “Be welcome, child. There is nothing to fear here.”

Nodding despite the lace of terror around her heart, Dart shimmied out of her outers. Then after a moment’s hesitation, she stripped bare of all, even her scuffed slippers. There was no reason for shyness with Healer Paltry. Twice yearly, the man gave the girls their physiques, confirming their intact virginity. He was always gentle, teasing with light words, his hands always warm.

“Onto the bench with you, child,” Matron Grannice said with a nudge, bumping her back to the moment.

But Dart found herself frozen in place, knees locked together. “Mistress…”

Paltry cupped her chin. “This will be quick.”

His calming touch released her from the spell of her fear, and she stumbled stiffly to the bench. With gentle directions, she lay back, spreading her arms out and her legs along the joists. Her hands nearly touched the illuminarias of loam and air. Overhead, the fire globes blazed hotly, and below, unseen, Dart felt the stir of the basin’s waters in her own stomach.

Now it would all end.

Paltry leaned over her, holding four thimble-sized jars. “This unguent is made of the blood of the four aspects. You might feel a little tingle, and the corresponding illuminaria will shine brighter if you are accepted. You must pass all four. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.” She squeezed closed her eyes. In her ears echoed the cries of ravens.

A finger touched her brow four times: top, bottom, left, and right. The points of a cross. Only if she passed would the marks be connected with blue oils, sealing her purity.

Dart shook, knowing that would never happen.

As the fourth mark blessed her forehead, Paltry spoke near her ear. “Now to judge the purity of your spirit and-”

Glass exploded with a shatter. Dart cried out, curling in a ball. Overhead, shards rained down from the chandelier.

Dart felt impacts rattle the underside of the bench. Slivers cut into her back and arms and thighs, like a thousand bee stings.

Matron Grannice yelped, ducking away. Pupp raced in circles around the bench, eyes ablaze, jumping and leaping, as startled as any of them.

All around light blazed from the four illuminaria, near blinding in their brilliance.

Paltry stood, bleeding from lacerations on his face. His eyes were huge. “By all the gods…” he swore under his breath. The light quickly faded from the four exploded illuminaria. “I’ve never seen such a response.”

“What happened?” Matron Grannice asked, accusation in her voice, her eyes fixed on Dart.

“I didn’t… I couldn’t…” Dart said. “I’m sorry.”

Paltry wiped his face, picking out glass, then did the same for Dart. “It’s not her fault. While normally the illuminaria wax only slightly brighter, I’ve witnessed more brilliant displays over the years. Yet nothing of this magnitude. The strength and clarity of her spirit is without question.” Finished with his ministrations, he glanced up at Grannice. “From this radiant response of the illuminaria, I see no need to perform a physique.”

Dart felt a surge of hope. Without an intimate exam, her terrible secret would remain hidden. Perhaps for another half year, until the next physique.

But such hope was dashed with Matron Grannice’s next words. “You must, Healer Paltry. A supplicant before the Oracles must be cleared spiritually and physically.”

Paltry stared at the ruined illuminarias. “Of course, you’re right. But let’s be quick about this. I must study in more detail what happened here.” He waved for Dart to stretch back on the bench. He examined her with swift efficiency, hurried, with none of his usual gentleness.

Dart trembled under his touch as he checked her body from brow to toe. Lastly, he crouched between her spread legs and reached toward the ache in her loins, probing toward the root of her shame. “She’s been bleeding,” he said.

“Her first menstra,” Grannice explained, arms folded.

By now, tears rolled down Dart’s cheeks. She awaited the end of her life.

With a clearing of his throat, Paltry straightened and gained his feet. “Everything appears fine,” he said, patting her inner thigh. “She can attend the night’s ceremony.”

Dart gasped in shock, struggling to speak.

“Up with you then, child,” Matron Grannice said. “Into your clothes.”

Dart stared between the portly woman and the healer as he marked her forehead in blue oil. “I… I passed?”

She could not keep the incredulity out of her voice. Was she healed? Maybe the attack in the rookery had been just some horrible nightmare. She could almost believe it, wanted to believe it. At times over the past days, it had even felt that way. Or had some Grace secretly blessed her, made her pure again?

“Pure,” she repeated aloud. In her heart, the word also meant home and family.

“Yes, yes,” Matron Grannice scolded, “it’s indeed a blessed miracle. Now get yourself dressed. You’ve much to do before the full moon rises.” The matron turned to Paltry. “What of the other girls? Those still in the hall?”

Paltry shook his head. “I can test no others. It will take some days to acquire another four illuminaria. As such, they will not be able to attend this moon’s ceremony.”

Grannice hurried Dart into her clothes. “See what you’ve done, child! Ruined it for all the others!”

“But I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s truly not her fault,” Paltry pledged in her defense.

Dart nodded vigorously, tugging on the last of her clothes. She could only imagine the anger of the remaining thirdfloorers. There would not be another choosing until midwinter.

Frowning deeply, Matron Grannice led the way to the door. Dart hopped after her, trying to get her foot into her last slipper. Pupp, thinking it a game, jumped and nipped at her loose footwear. She shooed him away.