Oleander

I. Antalis

The dark night of a new moon brought Yalira's least favorite rite of Antala. The Lunar Rites were an unkindness for any high priestess. While the full moon asked for sacrifice, the new moon demanded surrender. Yalira did not fear pain. She did, however, dread the helplessness of submitting to Antala, of inviting the goddess to inhabit her body and speak through her mouth.

During the last few new moons, Antala had remained for three days, for there had been much to say. While the goddess borrowed her body, Yalira had ceased to exist. Nothingness and then an aching weakness in her bones from the rough hand of a goddess that treated her body as a vessel. The last rite had left her hollow and helpless, her body tremulous and vulnerable. And what for? No one could understand the message. Though her throat had been sore for the screaming, no one understood the truths Antala had given them. The same message each empty sky after empty sky.

"Serpents in a garden, dripping poison. Beneath a pomegranate tree, a child sits with a mouth full of blood. Outside the crumbling wall, a woman with a broken lyre plants laurel in a meadow of ash. A golden sun rises."

"High Priestess." The gentle voice interrupted her growing anxieties.

Tala, her newest temple priestess, stood in the entryway of Yalira's chambers. The raven-haired beauty reverently carried the long swaths of indigo linen that made the new moon robes and veil. Her hands were still stained with the dye. From experience, Yalira knew the indigo hands of an acolyte would linger for at least another moon.

It had only been a year since Yalira had been in Tala's place, ferrying the robes and ornaments of the high priestess. Her mentor, Thais dao Nadira, had elevated Yalira's status from acolyte to priestess the day after she prophesied her own death. 

She made the sign for peace against her heart for the woman. It had been Thais who had anointed her brow with crushed dulcamara and blessed her hands with hypericum oil. Thais the Waker, who had once brought a child back from death. Thais the Blessed who could send her spirit into the sick and convince their bodies to live. Thais, who could hardly stand without trembling, had been strong enough to teach her the rituals, strong enough to perform the blood rite to bind her as High Priestess. Yalira traced the silver white scar on her forearm with a quiet pride.

"Thank you, Tala." Yalira made an effort to keep her tone soft and formal. Though their years as acolytes had overlapped, Yalira had been taught the isolation of her position. According to Thais, it did not matter that Yalira the acolyte had spent many nights braiding Tala's hair, whispering soothing words to the abandoned girl. A high priestess was the liaison to the goddess and her time on the mortal plane could not be hampered with mortal distractions. Her body was but a conduit, she was no longer a sister, she would never be a mother.

Yalira stood slowly and moved to the half circle of mirrors that stood in the center of her chambers. The opening above usually let unfiltered moonlight pour into the room, but on this night, there was only the faint winking of starlight from the darkness and the soft dancing of flames from candles at her feet.

Though her chambers had been silent during her pre-ritual meditation, there was suddenly a coordinated flurry of activity upon standing. Tala approached and knelt with the robes in her lap, whispering prayers for vision and truth. Two acolytes entered and quickly made work of removing Yalira's dress. Before the soft linen fell to the floor, it was whisked away. One of the elder priestesses presented her with oleander leaves to chew and began rubbing dulcamara into her skin. Another tutted over the long, fading tattoo that ran down her spine, the legacy of Antalis and her priestesses, muttering the names as she darkened the names with fresh dye.

Chewing the oleander, Yalira tried to ignore the whirlwind of priestesses and acolytes around her. They pulled her hair, pinched her skin, and tugged her arms into the ceremonial robes. But when the activity calmed and Yalira looked into the mirrors around her, she could not deny that the effect was quite lovely.