Young Writers Society

Summary:

The Kingdom of Woodlands is at the end of a 10-year war, which resulted in the formation of a new social class called the heroes. People are vying for power in the new regime.

In this chapter, Golzar, leader of a hero company, visits the High Tower, the centre for religious leadership in Woodlands. She wants to reform the constitution of the Heroes’ Guild and restrict what actions heroes can take to complete quests, and she appears to have the Queen herself on her side. However, to navigate the political landscape, she still needs to understand the priests and clerics of the region and what they want. To do this, Golzar will have to confront her religious differences with the mainstream worshippers of the Mask-faced Goddess in Woodlands. 

At the same time, she suffers an uncommunicativeness with her second-in-command, Bryn. Gerhard, her advisor, tries to bridge the gap.

The High Tower shone like a star in the early morning. It rose from the palace grounds, piercing the indigo sky, with white bricks that reflected the torches that were lit by clerics at this hour of the day, when they would have already begun their studies or their prayer regimens.

Golzar looked up at it, clasping her hands together under her cloak. She remembered her first time seeing it, just a few days after the Battle of Lucrece. It was as awe-inspiring now as it was then.

As she drew closer, walking on the dew-heavy grasses, the Wizards’ Wing and the Witches’ Wing appeared on the horizon. They stretched to the west and east respectively, each facing the headquarters of their occupants. At the centre were the Clerics’ Chambers, a large stone base that led directly up into the tower.

Wind whistled through the grass as she approached. The entrance loomed over her, a fine arch with delicate flower patterns carved all the way to the top. The tower was untouched by the war. No one would dare attack it. So she could see the signs of ageing in the wood, a splinter here, a faded patch there, yet the construction was still sturdy, unlike the many new structures that popped up after the final battle to replace the ones destroyed.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. A row of three clerics fanned out, their snowflower robes fluttering as they moved.

“Visiting?” the first one inclined her head at Golzar. She wore her black hair under a green headband, made of silk and tied neatly on the side of her head. Her ebony complexion was luminescent in the light of early morning.

“Yes, Master.” Golzar bowed.

The three junior clerics let Golzar in along a polished tile path. The blue glaze on the ceramic was deep and dizzying, layered over art of irises.

~

Her hair had still been long, let loose down to her mid-back, when Gerhard first took her to a Woodlandian temple. She remembered its scents. The flowered incense, sweet in the air and trapped, stagnating between the wooden walls.

She had tried to walk in, only to be stopped by an angry cleric, told to remove her shoes.

“I’m so sorry,” Gerhard had said. “I hadn’t told you before.”

The sky stretched long like a tongue of fire above them. Her sword at her waist had to be removed before entering as well – something unheard of where she had come from. “I’m a swordsmith,” she had protested. “I can’t be parted from my work.”

Grey eyes had regarded her apologetically. “The rules are the rules.”

From then on, she tended to linger outside the Woodlandian temples, to perform her prayers alone, with the mask on her face rather than mounted on an altar.

~

When Golzar entered, she was taken into the High Priestesses’ personal office on the second-highest floor.

It was dim. Just the same colour as the morning light. There wasn’t even a torch-holder on the walls. Golzar performed a deep bow and then knelt down on the cold dark cyan tiles.

High Priestess Pulcheria lay on her side, on a couch, hands clasped at her waist, as she leaned to the left. The white robe flowed off of her, like an ocean wave, and two young women behind her were fastening her mantle, which matched the colour of her turquoise headband. Her russet twirl of hair was draped over one shoulder.

Golzar frowned slightly. Her heart was pounding in her throat. Who wouldn’t have this reaction, before the most powerful religious leader in the kingdom? Yet her own reaction irritated her.

Another priest was present, standing nondescript in the corner of the room. She smiled at Golzar. She seemed to have been caught up there, perhaps intending to discuss something with Pulcheria, Golzar thought. The priest wore a green headband, but the additional wooden cuffs around her wrists indicated she was a head priest at a temple.

This high up, the wind was stronger, fiercer. It formed a gale outside the window, and the reminder of altitude made Golzar feel slightly sick.

“State the purpose of your visit, Councillor.” Pulcheria’s diamond-shaped face was cold, the meagre light of dawn drawing a sharp outline of her cheekbones.

Golzar took in a breath and kept her voice even. “Master, I wish to learn the practices of worship in Lucrece.”

“I hear you come from Besiv.” Pulcheria’s husky voice dripped with contempt, like a desert watered down with mud. “Artisans there have beliefs different to ours.”

“Indeed.”

“I suppose you’ve come here to study the righ – the central ways of practice.”

“Yes, Master.” It was one of the things she had come here to do. The other thing was to make friends. Useful friends, Golzar thought, pressing her lips together.

Behind Pulcheria, the windows were open, slowly beginning to let in more light as the sun rose. Golzar also spotted a tiny door in the corner, a curious little opening that was currently closed and latched. More shockingly, it began to shudder, as if something was beating against it.

“You will go to the texts, first. It is important you understand the central translations of the Scripts that the people of this good kingdom study.” Pulcheria seemed to be ignoring the sound entirely.

“Understood,” Golzar said. Her instincts were tingling. What if it was something dangerous? A thief? A poorly made-out assassin? She glanced at the priest in the corner, but she was just smiling beatifically, as if nothing was happening.

“After that, you will be taken to the workshops and houses of craft.”

“F-forgive me, Master, and I really do not wish to interrupt, but – is something happening there? Behind the door?”

Another bark.

“What something?”

Golzar shuddered. The flat painted door continued to rumble.

“Take her to the libraries,” Pulcheria ordered one of the clerics. “See to it that she understands enough of our traditions.”

The cleric nodded her head. It was the woman from earlier, with the black hair. She strode calmly to Golzar and beckoned for her to follow. When they were out of earshot, Golzar smiled at the cleric. “Say, if you don’t mind me asking . . . “

“Oh. Those are the High Priestess’ pets, Councillor.”

Golzar’s eyes widened. Pets?

The cleric’s expression grew grave. “You’d best be careful around them. Master treasures them very much.”

“Of course,” Golzar said, keeping her eyes straight ahead. Those barks may have sounded like little dogs, but no doubt they were of some exotic far-away breed, she thought. Possibly even a deadly one.

~

It had been autumn, back then.

“Y’know, Golz’ I really don’t get you.” Bryn looked at her, while they chewed on a cookie one of the Woodlandian clerics had given them. Yellow leaves fell and swirled around the two of them, blown by a cool breeze.

Golzar looked up, from where she was lying with her back against a wooden bench, hands tucked behind her head. “Don’t get what?”

Bryn popped the last of the cookie into their mouth and swallowed. “You’re the religious sort, aren’t ya’? Why don’t you go in there with the rest of us?”

There was a particularly interesting dried leaf on the ground Golzar was looking at. It was shaped like a cricket.

She shrugged. She felt the glare of one of the clerics on her side, the one who was watching them both from the door of the temple.

“I just don’t,” she said. Her mind drifted back to the old temples of Besiv, where the tile floors were open and the air smelt of cinnamon. The suspicious look on Bryn’s face was a shadow in the corner of her vision, she knew, and it lingered in the back of her mind whenever she talked to them.

It was true. She didn’t tell them things. Then again, neither did Bryn. She picked up a leaf from her sleeve and blew it into the air. A problem for another day, she figured. Her long hair tickled her neck.

~

Well, today was that day. Golzar shook her head slightly. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, cowering in the face of strange priests from a strange land. Woodlands was home. Besiv was gone and lost to her.

She picked up the pace, looking around. The corridors of the High Tower were decorated in the same deep blue tiles as the entrance, and the patterns were mesmerising. Delicate works of mosaic that depicted masks, tunics, and even sabatons: that sharp-looking metallic shoe that a heavily-armoured noble would wear to battle.

With some embarrassment, Golzar realised she had begun to skip. She glanced quickly to the side – had the cleric seen that? But she only realised the cleric was skipping along as well.

Almond eyes looked at her innocently. They both stared at each other for the longest time, and then, finally, the cleric pointed with a finger. “There is the library entrance.”

There wasn’t a door. One simply went under the stairway and entered a room where it seemed the walls were made out of books. Golzar did not have to duck as she stepped in. The smell of musty parchment and fresh ink greeted her. Several scribes were copying texts at a table, three of them sitting in a row.

Suddenly, she saw a familiar tall figure by one of the bookshelves.

“Excuse me, Master?”

The priest she had seen in Pulcheria’s room turned around. “Oh, hello!”

She extended a hand in greeting. Golzar examined the look in her eye and figured she wanted to shake hands. Carefully, she gave the priest’s hand a firm grip and a shake. The priest continued grinning. Safe, then.

Golzar spoke tentatively. “I can’t help but notice you bear a pebble of the Grey Graue. Are you from the temple of Rosaheim, by any chance?”

“Ah! A good eye,” she said. The priest had a caramel brown complexion and wide-set onyx eyes. “I am Priest Rose, head priest of the temple of Rosaheim.”

The cleric beside her seemed calm. No panic over the rituals of conduct. So it seemed to Golzar she had conducted everything appropriately. Now was the hard part.

Before either of them said another word, the light of the room dimmed. Golzar’s instincts flared, but when she turned, all she saw was a scribe pushing the curtains shut over the only window in the room. Sunlight damaged some of the texts here. It seemed that only Pulcheria was willing to risk the dangers of natural light.

In the glow of candles, Golzar saw the cleric smile at Priest Rose.

“Golzar. Commander of the Grey Hound Company . . . and Guild Councillor. It’s an honour to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Priest Rose grinned.

"I've always been interested in how Rosaheim conducts its ceremonies." Golzar made a show of looking aside bashfully. "I come from Besiv, you see."

"Oh that's far away."

Golzar clamped her jaws shut. Truth be told, it annoyed her any time someone in Woodlands called her home village 'far away', when many of them on the east side at least were now travelling within three days to the Zenithian border or further. The ancient road towards Besiv and its surrounding villages was well-established, much more so than the many dirt paths managed by scattered authorities, including some bandit groups.

Still, she had to bear it if she wanted to curry favour with this woman.

Priest Rose smiled, the previous phrase forgotten. "I'd be delighted to show you."

Naturally, they began walking together. The cleric from before lurched forward slightly, when the priest seemed to be bringing Golzar to the door. Golzar was hoping Priest Rose wouldn't notice, but she did. "What is it Emile?"

"Master, the High Priestess asked to show her the library first."

"I don't think it would hurt." Priest Rose began to turn back. Golzar had to save the situation, quick. As much as she loved books, it would be preferable if she weren't around one of the High Priestess's underlings. Rosaheim, she had heard, was quite removed from the affairs of the High Tower, and tended to have a separate leadership in the temple, though they aligned their position with the capital.

"Forgive me, Master, but would it not be a bother to the scribes?" Golzar asked the cleric. One of the scribes looked up eagerly, clearly agreeing that their presence was disruptive.

"Well, then I - I suppose . . ."

Priest Rose's ever radiant smile just went on shining. "We'll keep it between us, then." She raised her finger to her lips.

The cleric bowed her head. She was forced to retreat. Grimacing internally, Golzar wondered if she would be in much trouble with the High Priestess before. Copper eyes watched the cleric leave. She could make it up to her later, perhaps. Golzar entertained the vision of sending the High Tower more curtains to yank dramatically over the rising sun.

She and the priest walked into the lightening corridor, where a small breeze was blowing from the windows. Priest Rose cast a long shadow onto the floor. Tall people, Golzar thought to herself with exasperation.

~

The apple slices on the table were turning brown. Gerhard sighed, pinching one between his fingers and slipping it between his teeth. Too sweet. Bryn sat opposite him, also not touching the apples.

“What did you find?”

Bryn shrugged. “Not much yet. Just this.”

They slid over a reused piece of parchment with a sketch map of the palace, filled with little x-marks. “That’s where the handmaiden was going. Myra’s her name. Gard’ner says she’s with the Queen everywhere.”

“So we can assume this is where the Queen goes as well.”

“Which one was Golzar’s first guess?”

“The guard house. The one controlling which serfs can visit the palace.” Gerhard scoffed.

“Could be.” Bryn pointed at another location. “But this could also be the spot.”

Lucretia was being a lot more careful than the heroes were. Writing messages in riddles and code after the first meeting, to ensure follow-ups wouldn’t be caught and that she wouldn’t be accused of favouritism – or worse, conspiracy.

Gerhard sighed. He looked at Bryn. Their hair was still wet from when all of them had gone bathing in the river and they had gotten splashed at by one of the young ones.

“Did Golzar tell you about any of this?”

Bryn shook their head, still looking at the map. “She was supposed to, I guess?” They shrugged. “Could be she forgot. Or not.”

“Isn’t she at the High Tower today?”

Bryn nodded. “Yeah. She told me.”

“You didn’t ask to go with?”

Bryn shook their head. They regarded Gerhard strangely, tilting their head to the side, as though Gerhard was a transparent crystal with an odd light shining through him.

“Why would she want me to follow her?” Bryn’s tone seemed genuinely curious.

“She’s never liked being in the western temples, Bryn.” Gerhard sighed.

Bryn’s eyes widened in recognition.

~

Gerhard remembered what Golzar had said in the kitchens, just after telling him she would go to the High Tower. It was long overdue, that visit. If Gerhard had been in her shoes, he would have gone there first, rather than straight to the Queen. But never mind that, he thought.

There was not even one stain for him left to scrub. He plopped down on a bench, watching the clouds slowly clear outside.

“Could you tell Bryn to help me get some information?” Golzar gazed out the window absently. She kept one elbow on the table behind her as she sat loosely on the bench. She had never been one to fidget, the way Gerhard knew he did, but something in him told him she was uncomfortable.

“I need them to find out where the Queen usually goes during the day. Preferably by tracking that handmaiden of hers.”

Gerhard furrowed his brow. “Why her?”

“Myra was not part of the original palace staff. I reckon she has been serving her Grace personally for a while now. She would probably have some kind of information on her. Even if we don’t find out the meeting place, we are bound to uncover something useful. Provided Bryn doesn’t get caught.”

Golzar paused for a while, thinking. “If we make our plans properly, they’ll be fine.”

"But," Golzar raised her hands in a gesture of surrender, "If they say no, I could probably hire someone else to do it. Just thought we'd want to save on the money to keep whoever it is quiet, you know?"

Suddenly, she put down her hands, and then seemed to force them to rest on the bench like they were before, and she continued looking out the window. "One way or another. I've no preference."

Gerhard narrowed his eyes. "Why don't you tell them yourself?"

Golzar barked out a laugh. "I could! I just thought you were going to have lunch with them tomorrow and I still have all this paperwork to sort out and . . . "

"Fine, fine." Gerhard picked up his walking stick again. It was almost time for him to check on Tanya. She was bound to get side-tracked in her training if he left her alone for too long. "I'll speak to them."

"Thanks, Gerry." Golzar smiled, an expression of relief. “I think it’s really better if you ask them.”

The shadows shifted around their feet as the clouds began to clear and midday intensified the colour of the sunlight.

Whatever it was, Gerhard thought, Golzar was unlikely to speak about it directly. She was uncomfortable talking to Bryn, talking about her plans for the motion. He sighed. He had a feeling he knew why, though he still couldn’t understand how things ended up being so difficult.