She sniffed at the food and found herself ravenous, eating everything on the plate aside from some nameless hunk of gray meat. She unfolded the robes and something tumbled from them to land on the bed.
It was a bell. The one Tanel had given her, its bone clapper wrapped in fabric. He must’ve managed to slip the gift into these robes, though how he’d done it she couldn’t guess.
She never gathered the nerve to ring it – it was a universe outside her, a signal to some world she would never know, a people that were reviled and as foreign to her as the moon. She examined it once more, the delicate spiral patterns of royal blue. There were several serpent shapes, some of these with horns. Did the Kelthi worship wyrms, too? She knew they had other gods – blasphemous ones, goats and elk and other animals.
But thinking of the way the wyrm looked, its horns and tail and scales so much like her own, left her with a question she wasn’t ready to look at.
She placed the bell on the pillow and dressed, her eyes returning to it again and again as if anchored by its presence.
The robes were not Glinnel robes, nor were they ceremonial. In fact, once she found the sash and cornette she realized she’d been given the robes of an Unsung Sister: plain, undyed hempen fabric devoid of bells.
“Excuse me,” she said, tapping on the door. “Apologies, Brighthand, but I believe these are the wrong robes.”
An annoyed voice returned to her, muffled through the door. “You’ll have to take it up with High Glinnel Seli when she arrives.”
“She won’t be happy to see me in these,” Lain insisted. “I am the Bellborn. These are the robes of an Unsung.”
“All due respect, Kelthi –”
She gasped. “You err in address, Brighthand –”
“These were the robes assigned to you by the High Glinnel.”
“There must be some mistake,” she muttered, but even with her anger, she was more than aware that there was no arguing with her guard. So she fastened the cornette, which was stiff and tall, likely in order to hide her budding antlers.
She sat for a while with the bell in her lap, imagining Tanel whispering something to an Unsung sister, perhaps trading a small trinket or slice of candied orange peel in exchange for slipping this token in with the robes. Or perhaps some Unsung Sister favored him and was willing already to exchange favors.
This thought felt more true, and she was embarrassed by the sour rush of jealousy that accompanied it. The Dagorlind were a religious caste within the city of Ivath; they were meant to be abstinent from romantic entanglements. The concoction Elder Tanel gave her had milder versions many of the Sisters and Brothers drank when such romantic urges arrived. And none of them experienced desire with the intensity of Lain’s Heat.
She liked this idea better, that Elder Tanel was reserved with all but her, that she alone could tempt him away from his vows of chastity.
She shook her head. The thought was blasphemous. That was the Heat talking, her Kelthi side yet again pulling her astray from her purity and dignity.
She heard the scrape of a chair and the approach of footsteps outside. Lain shoved the bell in a pocket and stood.
The door swung open and there stood High Glinnel Seli.
Sister Lain gave a polite bow. “Greetings, High Glinnel,” she said. “Pardon my appearance. I believe I was provided with the wrong robes. By mistake, of course.”
“Good Morning, Sister Lain.” Seli entered, and behind her came two Unsung Sisters, dressed in robes identical to Lain’s. Each held various goods in their hands. The guard closed the door behind them.
Seli looked Lain up and down. “There has been no mistake, and your appearance is acceptable, given the circumstances.”
Lain blinked. “Apologies, High Glinnel. I’m not certain I understand.”
Seli smiled the way iron might smile. “You have endured much, Sister. Few Bellborn have sung as purely as you did. The Underserpent itself woke to answer your call.”
Lain bowed her head, heat rising to her cheeks. “It should not have woken.”
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
“Perhaps not. Yet the wyrm stirred for you. It heard the truest note in you.” Seli’s eyes softened, but there was something strange about it, practiced like an Unsung fluffing their thousandth pillow. “You are strong, Lain. Stronger than any I have seen.”
Lain’s chest swelled with a fragile pride.
“And yet,” Seli went on, and that pride split along the edge of her tone, “strength ungoverned can harm as easily as it heals. You understand that, don’t you?”
Lain’s throat tightened. “Yes, High Glinnel.”
“The wyrm’s song is unstable now. Its dreams are restless. The Starbloom lingers in its blood as it does in yours. You feel it even now.” she gestured lightly toward Lain’s chest. “That thrum beneath your ribs.”
Lain touched her sternum without thinking. Her pulse beat wildly beneath her palm. Seli gave a slow, knowing nod. “That is your Heat. We have another word for it: temptation.”
Lain wanted to vanish. To have her most private rhythm named aloud like a failing.
“It draws you toward what should be left untouched. It drew Elder Tanel to you. It drew the wyrm awake.”
The words struck like a blow. Lain’s mouth opened, but no defense would form. The shame came hot and swift. Her ears ached beneath the cornette, her tail wrapping itself tight around her leg. How could she know about Tanel?
The guard, Lain realized. The door was not soundproof, and the Brighthand were many things, but never stupid.
“If I had been told you were having your cycle, we would have postponed.”
“It came early,” Lain whispered.
“Indeed.” Seli bowed slightly, bringing herself eye-level with Lain. “Your failure is not without remedy. There is a way to make it right. The wyrm still needs you, Sister Lain.”
Lain’s eyes lifted, hopeful despite herself. “Tell me how.”
“You will go north,” Seli said. “Beyond the high pass, where the clouds gather at the world’s spine. The Starbloom grows wild there, unharvested. It is dangerous even to touch, but your body has already endured its venom. Only a Glinnel can hear its song clearly, and none are like you. You will be the first Kelthi ever entrusted with this pilgrimage.”
She paused, letting the weight of the words settle. “If you truly wish to serve the wyrm – to preserve its purity and your own – you will undertake this task alone. The Brighthand will escort you to the base of the range, but at that point, you will have no guard, no Elder, no voice but yours and the wind. Once you depart from Ivath, the Wyrm’s voice will be lost to you until you return.”
Lain’s heart hammered. Exile, she knew, but framed as grace. “When must I leave?”
“At dawn tomorrow,” Seli said. “The wyrm’s dreams grow darker by the hour. You will leave under the guise of being an Unsung Sister. Until you return, that is what you will be. The Unsung sisters will guide you to the outer gate, where the Brighthand will meet you, if you accept this pilgrimage.”
“I’ll go,” Lain said, the words escaping before thought could follow. “For the wyrm.”
“For Ivath,” Seli corrected gently. The High Glinnel’s smile returned, serene and satisfied. She gestured to the Unsung Sisters. “The Sisters have prepared your things. A cloak, provisions for the pass, and a lamp for the path. You are blessed, Bellborn. Few are given a second calling.”
“Thank you,” said Lain. She gave a deep bow. “I will not fail you.”
The Unsung Sisters stepped forward. One held a softly waxed leather pack and a walking staff, the other several wrapped packages of foods and a cloak. Lain took the pack and found her hoof caps inside. She never thought she’d have to wear them again.
When they left her, the cell felt suddenly too large, the scale-lights too bright. She sorted through the supplies; one cloth bag smelled strongly of licorice root. She opened it and found a note within.
Add a teaspoon to a cup of hot water. Steep until the water turns dark. Two doses per day until the end of your cycle.
Travel safely, Bellborn.
– Elder Tanel
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands until the silence grew unbearable. Then she drew the little bell from her pocket.
Its spiral patterns caught the light, the faint blue serpents winding around its surface. She turned it in her fingers, thinking of Tanel’s face, of his shame, of his laugh against her temple. She thought of Seli’s words: temptation.
She held the bell against her chest. The wyrm’s slow heartbeat answered from somewhere far below. She could sense its discomfort, even a hint of its confusion.
“I’ll make it right,” she whispered.
The city was still when she left it.
Snow lay soft upon the roofs, muffling every sound. The Unsung Sisters walked beside her without speaking, their veils pale ghosts in the dark. At the gate, they stopped. One offered a lamp.
Lain bowed her head. “Tell the High Glinnel I am grateful for the trust she’s shown me.”
The nearest Sister inclined her head, though her eyes flicked toward Lain’s cornette where the faint ridges of her horns pressed against the fabric. “Go with the wyrm’s blessing,” she said softly.
At the gate two Brighthand guards waited, their scale-steel alive with a pearly shimmer. Their heavy cloaks, ash-gray wool, were embroidered with the sigil of a bell; that same sigil was sewn into their collar, a stylized bell set within a serpent coil. One nodded to her. Their hands were bare, even in cold weather. Their right hands were anointed before every mission with a thin coating of alchemical oil that gave their skin a faint and opalescent sheen. The sharp, resinous scent of it rose to greet her. She tried on a smile, and found that in the cold morning it did not fail her.
Lain passed beneath the gate’s arch and into the cold beyond, and the two Brighthand followed. Their swords were fitted each with a tiny bell on the pommel. On missions of secrecy, the pommel was covered with a leather cap; but now the bells jingled softly as they walked, an odd sort of judgement in the tone.
The road curved downward, then vanished into the mist. Behind her, Ivath’s bells began to toll the morning hour, each note fading into the mountains like the breath of a sleeping god.
She would have her chance at sainthood again.
She did not look back.