EXCERPT

INITIATION TO THE LEGENDS

By  Bridghid Parkinson

PRELUDE 

“I want to know what it was really like!” the young man said.

Mid-day lessons were never easy for the children that were ready to go to Temple and continue their studies but were simply too young to do so. The inquisitive minds often didn’t find the answers in the pages of the books available and they didn’t yet develop the patience for extensive reading, nor could they read the script.

Young Ruldor was just at that perfect age. His eyes flickered with curiosity.

“I’m trying to tell you the legends,” his grandmother explained calmly.

“We have all the dragons, but it wasn’t always like that!” he pointed out.

“Right. At one time, people only heard legends of the Bearded Merchant.” Grandma explained.

“What was is like when there were no dragons?” he asked.

“I don’t know! That was even before I was born.”

“Wow!” Ruldor looked at her with a wide-eyed expression. “You’re old, too.”

Grandmother gave an impatient smile but said nothing when she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

Ruldor’s eyes flashed with impatience. “All the stories I hear are just baby stories! Amarat and Madiri were bonded at the Temple and now we have little dragons.” His hand motions begged for more than just a child’s story.

“Yes, and there are many stories that I am sure you will start to learn more about when you study magic, because they gave us the lessons on real magic.”

“They work like we do, or they even work with us.” Ruldor looked up at his grandmother and a silent plea in his eyes. “Then we have stories about big scary dragons!”

“No, dragons aren’t scary!” Grandmother admonished him.

“Then what’s the real story about the dragons?”

“My sweet, there are only two people that know the full story of how the legends really happened, and that is Madiri and Amarat.”

“I wish they would tell us,” he said dejectedly.

“Would you really want to know?” Grandma asked.

“Yes!” The boy’s eyes lit up with delight.

Grandma eyed the young man warily but knew it might be time he heard other stories. “I have some books in the house. We must go in anyway because the sun is getting high. We can review the books and see what they tell us.”

“I wish they would tell us…,” the boy said dejectedly.

“When you get to the temple, you can read these stories for yourself.”

CHAPTER ONE

I will eat you!

Madiri sat up in bed when the nightmare woke her. She tried to scream but she couldn’t get out any sound, she felt strangled around her neck and chest. Sweat covered her body, her hands fumbled with the covers that wound around her body and her pulse raced, her breath came in short gasps and she trembled.

In the vision, the dragon stood above her without color, with wings spread and jaws open, his front claws grabbing into a dark sky, with thick horns and stony growths over his head chest and shoulders. She could still feel the remnants of the vision, the vile, glowing eyes watching her and the feeling that the jaws were ready to clamp down over her body as she struggled with the linens.

Strange dreams and visions haunted her the whole night but none before displayed such graphic details of the dragon. The air lay heavy with the malice she felt in the vision. It felt like someone lurked behind the furnishings, watching her. Even the stone walls seemed to have eyes. Perhaps the monster hid behind the pillars, ready to leap out at her.

She untangled the covers from around her legs and fled from her bed to the water closet, frightened by every shadow from the lanterns. The trembling in her body wouldn’t stop and she could only whimper, cowering from the burning eyes that still watched her every move.

Madiri turned up the flame on the lantern in the water closet. She leaned against the cool, stone of the wall and focused her thoughts on the young priest she saw in her dreams. In the visions, she found she would be captivated by his eyes, and she prayed that she would soon find him, certain that with him, she'd be safe. The memory of the passionate visions gave her a little peace and calmed her.

She longed for a time where she didn’t feel watched and haunted at every step. The visions grew worse since the Moon cycle, because both moons would soon be full, which increased the frequency of visions for those receiving them. The Gods gave some girls visions of their mates but Madiri could not find the man she saw. In her visions, she could feel him. Madiri’s visions felt real. She knew the difference between a vision and a dream. She could see his face, although not as clearly as she could feel his gentle hands and swollen groin. The visions of the dragon were real to her perception, and more perilous.

Returning to her bed with the brighter lantern, she placed it on the table. She pulled the shutters closed on the archway to the terrace. She tried to sleep, but dozed fitfully. The flicker of the lanterns flame cast shadows that continued to frighten her even though the sensation passed of having eyes glaring at her from every corner.

In the early morning hours she took solace in a vision about her priest. They did not speak during the vision; instead, she kissed him with all of the passion for a lover she knew. Her mouth sought his, and his arms wrapped around her so that her skin tingled. Even as her heart pounded in her vision like the ritual drums, he would not take her and satisfy her needs. Instead, he held her tight. Being in his arms brought safety and freedom from the beast that haunted her.

* * * *

Life at the Temple was routine and strictly disciplined for the young priestesses.

Madiri awoke to the calls of the runners. She bathed and dressed as quickly as her foggy mind would allow. Now during the daylight hours, she wanted nothing more than to lie down and find come comforts in sleep without the nightmares. She put her check against the cool stone of the wall hoping the chill would revive her lagging energy.

Dug deep into the damp, cool caverns, the Temple building complexes stood sheltered in the hills. Thick trees and plants grew over the walkways and sheltered the terraces. More plants were cultivated over trellises and awnings for additional protection from the sun and heat. The courtyards sheltered the many works that the women did with their families except during the hottest parts of the day where everyone moved inside.

Madiri lined up for planting chores after breakfast. With the small spade in hand she laid the seeds for the second planting of colardi that would help sustain them in the winter. Part of her education included works shifts since the people grow these plants for sustenance. As a Pelan Priestess, she will teach the people in the districts how to plant the seeds.

Three tiers of service for the temples took each of the priests and priestesses through a lifetime of service. The men served along side the girls, and there was no shortage of help from people in the community. The men and immediate family members of the priestesses often served as teachers and scribes, but the men bonded to a Pelan Priestess led rituals with his mate.

The youngest Marathi, the student priestesses, were involved in the community, temple gardening efforts, and rituals. The girls learned the principles and traditions from the beginning so that even a girl of 10 summers could arbitrate a market negotiation without intervention from a higher order priestess. The Marathi students learned in classes taught by the Elders and Pelan, with individual advance studies taught until the time the girls initiated as a Pelan Priestess.

The Pelan worked among the communities. Little villages and districts enjoyed the counsel of Pelan Priestesses and their mates as a focal point to the community. The small temples were the central location to the settle disputes, exchanging community writings and skills, education of the young citizens and celebrations for the Gods.

The Elders, The Tekara, provided education to the young priestesses, and leadership in the larger District Temples, but their skills as craftsmen were renowned. Classes, hearings, markets, and Religious ceremonies to the Gods were abundant in the Temples but this was the way of the people. The Elders carried the confidence to counsel the citizens about meditation and prayer to the Gods, and the mystique of coincidental magics that occurred throughout the land.

Madiri knew the magic of visions from her own experience. Legends of magic were becoming more common among the people and most frequent during the cycles of the Red Moon. The youngest Marathi and Pelan priests and priestesses often investigated claims of magic among the people and reported the extraordinary finds to the main Temple of Doval.

Madiri found no comfort in the morning planting chores and the exhaustion made her body ache. The heat made her mood worse and she simply didn’t speak to the other priestesses that morning. She didn’t complain because the people needed the help. The land’s tropical atmosphere could be steaming hot during the high summer days and sometimes those of poor health couldn’t scratch out a modest living. Cooler temperatures in the season of the long nights would also hinder some of the elders. Soon she would be able to go inside and relax during the lessons with the books. The girls were now working on a project to pass new information to the temples and they were busy copying works with the scribes.

New developments were beginning to ease the demand on scribes. Sculptors carved images and symbols onto blocks of hard wood so the scribe generated scrolls and forwarded the work to the other temples in days rather than months. Now, the young student priestesses helped with these tasks.

Facserity, Madiri thought, lost in her work again. The legends spoke of the woman chosen by Amarat and gave her a revered name. Rituals honored her as a Goddess but no information remained about what became of her after she left the Temples. Her frightful visions of the dragon were an uncommon occurrence and she felt certain they foretold her future.

* * * *

Since her night had been terrifying and sleepless, Madiri could not focus. When she ate, the fresh vegetables and moist breads felt like sand in her mouth, and she couldn’t eat the plate of food she received from the elders. She longed to try sleeping again when the shadows of the night could not haunt her. Her eyelids were heavy and her body felt like she walked in the sluggish waters of a swamp when she walked through the courtyards. Her basic temple skirts seemed confining in the sweltering daytime heat as she helped mediate trades in the market.

The Gods gave many young Marathi priestesses dreams or visions of their mates and usually this meant joy in their lives. Madiri dreamt of a young priest she never found and suffered visions of a legend that she feared. She felt the Gods tormented her life. 

After the market, she began pacing the floors of the Temple Library. She searched for any distractions to no avail. She could not look to the shelves and find any writings she wanted. Madiri felt weary into her bones and it got worse as the day progressed.

There were many long days of duty during her advanced training. Long days in the temple were normal between work, her lessons, and the rites. She trained for this from the beginning. It would be this difficult once she entered the Pelan Order, but her mind clouded from exhaustion as she left the library.

I am Marathi. I am one of the Chosen. I bear the mark. Soon, he may Choose. The people have had visions of him. I have had visions of him.

“You are troubled, Madiri?” her elder asked.

Madiri jumped and her skin tingled, jarred from her preoccupations.

The Elder Tekara Priestess Kelani stepped toward her. As High Priestess, her robes were simple, with only a distinctive belt and armbands. Everyone in the districts respected her authority. Her white hair lay pinned back and her white robes draped around her head and shoulders. She carried herself with regal authority and gentleness.

“Yes. I didn’t sleep well. I had dreams of the Great Lord Amarat that were frightening,” Madiri let her thoughts wander to the blur of images from the night before.

“Amarat is not frightening!” Kelani scoffed.

“He chooses Facserity—she, the Chosen—goes to him in the tower but she never returns to the homelands.” Madiri knew she wanted to stay in the districts close to the temple of Doval. She had no fear for her body, but she didn’t want to loose her home.

“It’s been many, many years since Amarat has Chosen, but there is nothing to fear,” Kelani said. “He may select soon. We are his Chosen Ones—you bear the mark—as do I.”

The fire-like emblem on the back of her right hand remained bold, even at her age. Not many of the girls remembered how they got the mark, other than they woke up one morning to find the flame symbol with the flames reaching upward on the wrist. The painless mark was the same color as a freckle but even cuts or injuries couldn’t mar the image.

“How often does he Choose?” Madiri asked.

“There are tales that he chose once a year, for many years in a row. It has been more than fifty summers since the last Choosing. It could be many more years, but he’s never selected anyone older than twenty summers. I was unhappy. I thought I was flawed, but I had worked hard at my studies and a young man I knew well became my priest and my mate. It has been a blessing, now I serve the temples and the people in great ways. I never doubted that I am destined to serve the people.”

There were no words Madiri could use to describe her fear without sounding peculiar. Amarat is an enormous frightful lizard— a Dragon. He’s a beast and yet, the people gave him honor. He appears human and the people tell amazing tales of a Gentle Merchant that helped them in hard times. Madiri felt curious but scared, trying to find the truth. She wrung her hands from nervousness because she questioned the oldest knowledge of her people about the benevolence of Amarat. She knew her lessons well, she understood all of the legends and could describe them in comforting ways to the people she counseled.

“Tell me about Amarat. He is our protector? Does he work with the Gods?”

“Yes. As the people call him the ‘Hand of the Gods’ and the ‘Bearded Merchant’. You are afraid of him?” Kelani took the hands of the young priestess. “He has not chosen in many years, there is no reason to think he might do so now. But, this is not just a bedtime story we tell the children, he’s active among the people.”

“I do fear it… I am terrified! I am nineteen summers old. I feel watched. Strange eyes are on me, always. Even when I am in Temple doing rituals and classes with the children, I feel as if there are other eyes are upon me, but I can’t see them. I hear about the glory of the women who became Facserity, with the love that lifts the crops and our people. They go out to the Tower… they meet Amarat… and they never return to the homelands.”

“You know he selects when we do the First Harvest Ritual.” Kelani said.

Madiri nodded her head. “First Harvest comes in three days.”

“Yes, and when you girls raise your dance staff into the air, the Light of Amarat may come and he selects the one that will come to him in the Tower. There is time, until the Great Moon is full, to honor family and there will be a great festival.” Kelani explained to her.

“But I will never return.” Madiri said flatly. She leaned against the pole supporting the cover for the terrace. Her body ached.

“My dear, you do not die! You sound as if being selected is a death sentence!”

“What happens to the women that are called?” Madiri demanded. Her eyes burned with tears because she felt she wasn’t getting the full truth. She knew the High Priestess would never intentionally deceive her, but it felt like an unseen wall surrounded the mystery of Facserity. Dire secrets shrouded in mysteries, legends, and myths. Kelani couldn’t answer because this has long been the Mystery of the Choosing. The air hung thick with silence.

“You cannot tell me!” Tears rolled down her face and she choked on the words. Her worst fears and imaginings were rushing to the surface in her exhaustion and she knew there were no answers because she had searched the Temple Libraries. The dragon in her visions seemed malignant and fearsome. The dragon of the Elders writings was benevolent.

“No, I cannot. No one knows for sure. The legends say you might be his bride. We know that there is no blood in the tower…,”

“No! Of course not! You cannot dribble from your mouth what you can swallow in one gulp! He has other women in other lands, our women make for a nice snack!” Madiri’s sobs drowned the words. Her eyes fluttered and she tried to step away from the Elder but she couldn’t take another step. She fell to the cool paving stones of the floor, crying.

“I wish I had seen this coming. You must rest. You are exhausted.” Kelani became motherly. She turned to Madiri and helped her sit on the garden bench.

Madiri shook. She sat sobbing against the ledge nearest the Temple Library. The lack of sleep made her edgy. She knew the horrifying visions had to be Armarat, but she took comfort in the visions of the priest. She respected the reverence for the women that had become Facserity but not even the Elders understood what happened after they walked to the tower to meet Amarat. Never heard from again, the women vanished, except for the legends of their great beauty and love that lifts up the people. The legends make them out as Goddesses that live on forever. Madiri found little comfort in the old echoes from her lessons, because she couldn’t find new information, from even the High Priestess.

Kelani signaled for help from some of the girls nearby. The younger members of the Marathi helped her to her feet and followed them at Kelani’s behest. The elder took Madiri’s hand and led her to her quarters.

Kelani gave orders to the girls in hushed tones that Madiri could hear. She helped Madiri to the bed, removed her robe and jewelry, and laid her down, covering her with all the tenderness of a mother.

Madiri regretted her sharp tones with her beloved teacher. The fog of exhaustion clouded her mind so she only knew the fear of the visions and the weariness of looking for information without finding it. Though Kelani served as High Priestess, the traditions she studied went back for generations and the search for detail was futile, even with the help of her beloved elder.

Kelani handed her a cup of warm teas without a word.

She mumbled, “I’m sorry, Kel. I can’t make sense of it.” Quickly, she drank of the tea she’d been given. Sweet and made with cream, the strong scents of the herbs told her this special tea would quiet her thoughts and dreams so that she might sleep undisturbed. She tried to explain some of the terrifying visions but her thoughts clouded. Soon, a dreamless fog took over her unsettled mind.

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