The Cerulean (Untitled Duology, #1)(72)
There were several shocked gasps at that, and many Cerulean looked at each other as if they could not conceive of such a thing.
“In the second year of our journey through space, six months before we found this planet, I lost an acolyte—Acolyte Grenda had been aged long before I was ever chosen as High Priestess, and her time to leave her corporeal body and join Mother Sun had come. Shortly after her death I asked Wyllin to be my new acolyte. She accepted, and I found such comfort in her presence at the temple. She was a true friend and confidante, one who I felt could read my heart without need of the blood bond.”
Leela shifted uncomfortably. What the High Priestess was describing sounded very much like her friendship with Sera.
“We talked together late into the evenings, we gathered herbs together from the Moon Gardens, and she would often play the lute for me after meals and I would pour my fears out into her open loving heart. For I was a very young High Priestess, and my ascension to the role had an abrupt and bloody history. I worried I was not worthy enough to lead this City, that I was making mistakes. I was terrified we would not find a new planet in time, before our fields withered and died and our Estuary dried up. Fear became my constant companion, and only Wyllin’s calm reassurance and steadfast friendship kept the terror at bay.
“It was she who first spotted this planet, the shapes of Kaolin and Pelago so unfamiliar then. The bells rang out from the temple for a full day and night, and a choosing ceremony was held the next morning. And my sweet beloved Wyllin was chosen to create the tether.”
The High Priestess paused to wipe a tear from her eye. She seemed so sincere in her grief, but Leela could not allow herself to trust it.
“I tried to tell myself that it was an honor for her to be chosen,” the High Priestess said. “But in my heart I was angry. I did not wish to lose my friend. As for Wyllin, she did not think herself worthy. I wonder if any chosen one has ever felt worthy—we all think ourselves so ordinary. But Mother Sun knows us, inside and out. And Wyllin had a courage unlike any Cerulean I have ever known.” Something about the way she said it made Leela certain that this, at least, was true. The High Priestess’s words rang with clarity and feeling that Leela did not think could be faked. The watching Cerulean were captivated, enraptured, transported back to a time before their mothers or their mothers’ mothers.
“She stood on the dais in the Night Gardens, and I lifted the barrier so that she could fall. And I tell you my children, it was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. Our City was still raw and grieving—my own heart had only recently been soothed, and Wyllin was a significant source of that comfort. I lost more than a friend that day. I lost a piece of myself.”
Leela felt as if they were finally arriving at the point of this story—her spine stiffened and she leaned forward, hanging on to every word.
“But our City is more important than any one Cerulean, and Mother Sun’s will more important than all. She chose Wyllin Moonseer for a purpose, as she chose Sera Lighthaven for a purpose.” A murmur ran through the crowd at Sera’s name. Leela clenched her hands into fists under the table. She dared not look at Kandra. “We may not see it now, for Mother Sun’s plans do not always reveal themselves right away. But there was a reason for Sera’s sacrifice and a reason for her failure. This I promise you, my children. I am not the young High Priestess I once was, tentative and afraid. I have no fear for the fate of our City, only confidence in Mother Sun. She will not lead us astray. There will be another choosing ceremony in time, and the City will move. We need not worry on that account. And I hope that Sera has found Wyllin in Mother Sun’s everlasting light, and that they are happy together, as all who are chosen deserve to be. Let us raise a glass to Sera and Wyllin.”
She took up her glass of sweetnectar and the Cerulean followed suit.
“Sera and Wyllin,” she called. “Praise them!”
“Praise them!” the Cerulean called back. The High Priestess’s eyes landed on Leela once more, and in that one glance Leela felt a pressure on her back and a heat on her neck. It was a look that seemed to say, There. Your curiosity should be satisfied now.
Except it wasn’t. Far from it. Leela allowed herself a quick glance at Kandra, seated three tables away. Her eyes were chips of onyx, her mouth in a thin line. Sera’s orange mother sat beside her, her head bent in prayer, gently rocking back and forth. Many of the Cerulean were crying, Leela noticed. It had been an impassioned story, and one they’d never heard before. Leela could see its effects working their way through her community, soothing any doubts that remained.
“My goodness,” her own purple mother said, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. “That was quite a tale, wasn’t it?”
Yes, it was, Leela thought. Whether it was true or not was an entirely different matter.
As the hour of the dark approached, Leela realized she was growing more and more accustomed to wandering the City late at night.
The Forest of Dawn was quite far from her own dwelling—she crossed at the Eastern Bridge and made her way past the cloudspinners’ grove and the stargem mines, and the journey took her longer than she had anticipated. The forest was filled with the sounds of nocturnal life, rodents scurrying and insects chirping and chattering. She passed a small pond where luminescent frogs croaked in harmony, their slippery bodies glowing in bright greens and blues. The trees gave off a variety of scents that mixed together to create a pleasing quilt of pine and magnolia and crabapple.