Night Rose, page 4
Owena and Ellery made their way to a pew near the back where both the exit and the front of the room were in view. Briatta smiled as she watched the austere woman who was her aunt sit neatly on her bench and carefully examine the room around her, thinking to herself that Owena would never truly be a regular citizen. The habits developed by her work with the Night Roses were too deeply ingrained, so much so that she kept watch even at the Founders Hall.
The line to meet Sister Keirna moved quickly, and Briatta bowed shallowly in greeting when it was her turn.
“Sister Keirna,” she said, pitching her voice low so it would not echo in the resonant hall.
“Briatta Belrose, isn’t it?” Sister Keirna said softly, her gentle smile setting her face aglow as she rose from her own bow.
“Yes,” Briatta nodded. “I’m supposed to ask you about the bath dress I will need for my Choosing.”
Sister Keirna brightened. “Ah yes, that’s coming up. I saw one set aside for you in the back. I’ll have it ready for you at the end of the service.”
“Thank you.” Briatta bowed once more before she parted ways with the young Sister. Within the Founders Halls, when greeting the king and other nobility, or at events where higher courtesies were recognized, it was common for the people of Belrune to greet each other with bows. Within these walls especially, everyone was worthy enough to be welcomed with honor.
Aden slipped in and followed Briatta as they joined their family at the bench, whereupon the sermon continued as was expected. The priests and priestesses wore white, floor-length robes cinched by golden belts with decorative tassels, and their shoulders were covered by a white shawl trimmed with more gold fabric. Each wore a golden necklace that hung to their abdomens, the intricate chain ending in a small golden figure. While she could not see them up close, Briatta knew they’d all taken a Founder as their patron upon swearing their final oaths, and they wore pendants of their patrons around their necks to guide them through life.
Some priests and priestesses had Ardor-marks on their temples, but not all did. If one wished to follow the vocation to become a cleric, it was the one occupation for Ardorists that the crown could not dictate.
Each service began with the head minister calling the people to prayer, and then they would read from the Book of the Binding, depicting the world-altering acts that the Founders had taken to save everyone. If not for them, Carceron would have died many years ago, and Briatta would never have come to exist. Now, the Founders were the only place where an Elfean could manifest Ardor, presumably because the concentration of Ardor and their connection to Carceron was so strong that it had fundamentally altered the way their world worked. Before they had existed, there was very limited information on how one could become an Ardorist; obviously, it was possible, because the Founders themselves were Ardorists.
Near the conclusion of the service, each person in attendance was called to the front, where they bowed to a larger statue—each standing in front of six unique altars to each known Ardor—of the Founder whom they required aid from that day. In this Founders Hall, there was nothing within the main body of the church to acknowledge the silent Founders. After that, the sermon was called to a close with a few songs composed in honor of the twelve holy Ardorists who had saved their souls.
For each of the next six days until her Choosing, Briatta would attend a Founders Hall and pray to one of the six named Founders. The other six were clouded in mystery, as no history had named them or their Ardor, and no tribute or prayer was given to them leading up to the Choosing. They were represented by the Cycles of Silence.
Briatta knelt before the Founder of Light, as her cycle came first in a Carceron year—followed by the six Cycles of Silence and the cycles of the other five Ardors in alternating order—and she would brighten the way for Briatta through this critical time in life. Since Briatta’s six days hadn’t officially begun, Briatta would come before the Founder of Light again the following day, but she figured that an extra appeal could only do her good.
When the service finally finished, Briatta led the way back to the rear of the hall and waited for Sister Keirna to return with her ritual bath dress. Sister Keirna appeared from the door on the side of the hall just as the last person filed out of the room, leaving only the Belrose family waiting there.
“Here you are,” Sister Keirna said, holding a wrapped package for Briatta. “The instructions for care after the bath are inside. We’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“You will.” Briatta smiled. Sister Keirna would be well versed in the rituals that took place prior to the Choosing.
Clutching her new parcel close, Briatta followed Owena out of the Founders Hall and blinked as they stepped into the bright sunlight. It was nearly midday as they walked home, where Preida would have food set out for them.
“Is it starting to feel real?” Aden asked as they walked, his grin cheeky.
“Hardly.” Briatta laughed. Fluttering nerves seemed to have taken permanent residence in her chest, and every breath she’d taken since having woken was shaky. “I don’t think I’ll believe it’s happening until I’m there.”
“You’ll be fine.” Aden’s smile softened to a more reassuring one, and he squeezed his sister’s shoulder.
“I’m hungry,” Ellery complained, her hand settling over her stomach as it rumbled loudly.
Owena raised an eyebrow and looked back at the little flock over her shoulder. “You can see our house from here.”
“I know,” Ellery moaned.
The Belrose house loomed large, that transient blue-grey color shimmering under the Polar Sun. A painted home such as theirs—which largely wasn’t the color white—symbolized status because the residents could afford to keep it cool without lightening the exterior to reflect heat. While the shade of the house wasn’t necessarily dark, it was something in-between.
With the year-round greenery that blossomed, thanks to Petyr, the house was a beautiful sight to behold. In honor of their namesake, Petyr had grown white rose bushes to vine over the house’s walls, and the surrounding air was always heavy with the floral scent that emanated from them.
Preida had set out platters of finger sandwiches and sparkling juices along with freshly cut fruit from the property’s greenhouse that Petyr also maintained. It was a simple lunch, yet everything was bursting with flavor and filling, leaving Briatta satisfied and refreshed.
After lunch, their aunt wanted to ensure the Belrose children could fit a sparring session into their day before Beginning Briatta’s Choosing lesson.
She sent them downstairs into the basement, which had been transformed into a training space long before Briatta and her siblings had moved in. The walls of the entire bottom floor were bare of paint; instead, it was lined with weapon racks, shields, and relics of the Belrose family history. On the ground was one big mat.
Owena matched Briatta against Ellery, and the sisters each chose types of swords that they did not typically use. They circled each other slowly, but Ellery advanced first, which was precisely why Briatta consistently managed to beat her still. While her younger sister was talented and catching up to Briatta and Aden rapidly, she was still brash and overly bold with her decisions.
The fight quickly ended with Ellery on her stomach and Briatta’s blade tapping the back of her neck.
“Kill strike,” Briatta said, backing away.
Ellery grunted with frustration and pushed herself onto her knees. “I don’t get it; what am I doing wrong?”
While Owena stepped in to review the session for Ellery, Briatta joined Aden, who was going through a series of exercises on his own with a longsword. This had been their lives from the day they had moved in with Owena after their father had sent them away. Owena had pulled them inside, fed them dinner, put them to bed, and the following day, she’d woken them all up before the bioday had begun and had them running sequences within a cycle.
Briatta would forever be grateful, because she couldn’t imagine how her life would have turned out otherwise. If she and her siblings had remained in Srila—Belrune’s capital, east of Montclair and of the Nalaran Mountains—with their father after their mother had been sent away, where would they be now? Likely still poor and living in a cramped apartment. Briatta couldn’t remember it very well, but Aden did, and he’d described it for her and Ellery many times over the years.
The situation had not been good. Briatta often wondered what had happened for their mother, Owena’s sister, to have ended up in such poor health that she was institutionalized while Owena had done so well on her own in Montclair, as she’d been too young to remember. Why hadn’t their father done more, she wondered? Once, she’d asked Owena about it, but the woman had remained tight-lipped where her sister Lila and her husband were concerned. She’d simply shaken her head sadly and changed the subject.
After hours of training, Owena finally declared they’d done enough for the day and that Briatta and Ellery would take it up again the next morning. The exercise helped clear Briatta’s mind, and her breaths were coming easier. Founders, it was going to be a long week.
In the few hours left before dinner, Owena took Briatta into her office and closed the door. She sat behind her desk and settled in, steepling her hands as she looked across the polished wood. Briatta squirmed under the scrutiny and felt as though her aunt were examining her as if she’d never seen her before.
Owena’s office had always been one of Briatta’s favorite rooms in the house, second only to the magnificent library. The office was lined with shelves that spanned the entirety of the walls, all the way to the ceiling, and they were crammed with books and artifacts that Owena and other Belrose women before her had collected over the years. There were old metal figurines, tattered covers, and pens so worn it was easy to see where they had most often been held. There were also brand-new books and maps and tiny glass sculptures of the Founders arranged carefully in front of the books and on the desk.
The entire room smelled like knowledge, and Briatta loved it.
“I’ve already taught you much of what you’ll need to know for the Choosing,” Owena said finally. “What do you think I mean by that?”
Briatta considered the question, filing through the many years of constant work that Owena had put her through. There was the hand-to-hand combat, the weapons training, the meditation to center and ground herself when she was fighting and needed to separate emotion from her work, and so much more.
There were also the many tools that an accomplished Ardorist might use. She’d heard Aden complain about becoming more tired the more Ardor he used, and how much harder it was to focus when he reached that state of fatigue. And Neven, whose Choosing had been a few cycles ago, said that when his Ardor had awakened, it had felt like breathing when he’d never taken a breath. It was as though an integral part of him had been sleeping for all these years, and now he could not envision life without it.
Briatta imagined that the only way she would completely understand what she needed for using her Ardor would be for her to walk away from the ceremony with Ardor.
But…beyond that, internal discipline seemed necessary for an Ardorist.
“Mindfulness,” Briatta finally answered. Owena quirked an eyebrow, nodding slowly.
“Exactly,” she said. “When your Ardor awakens, you will need to separate it from emotion and use the concentration you’ve built over the years to control it.”
Briatta noted that Owena said ‘when’ her Ardor awoke rather than ‘if,’ but she didn’t point it out. Briatta’s mother hadn’t been an Ardorist, and neither was Owena, so when Aden manifested Ardor, her aunt believed it was thanks to their father’s genetic contribution.
“These lessons are meant to practice your self-reflection and prepare you for that moment,” Owena continued. “But since you are already so well accomplished in that area, I am not concerned with wasting our time here. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?”
Briatta tilted her head, her eyes drifting around the room and landing on the books.
“Do you have any advice for me?” she asked at last, the uncomfortable sensation of pressure returning to her chest.
Owena smiled, this time with sadness. “I wish that I did. But…my life is one that hopefully you will never know.”
Her aunt didn’t have to say that she meant a life without Ardor. A life of living between the lower and higher societies of Belrune. It was in the tone of her voice, the regret clear in the way her shoulders sagged, and her eyes clouded with some memory that Briatta would never be privy to.
Ardorists were the backbone of the kingdom of Belrune, the key to a comfortable existence. An Elfean without Ardor was barely more than a burden in the eyes of high society, and there were more and more Ardorless with every passing year.
Owena was one of few Ardorless women who maintained her position in high society, and it was only due to the whispered rumors of her connection to King Novak. Most of the time, a person who completed their Choosing without Ardor was gradually invited to fewer functions, even if they’d been raised in high society among other Ardorists. They were let go by their friends, sometimes even their family, and eventually forgotten altogether. The Ardorless were forced to work jobs that no one else wanted, and Briatta knew from her observations that despite working harder than anyone else, they were still punished for the one thing they couldn’t control.
It hadn’t always been this way, where Ardorists hated the Ardorless and believed themselves superior, but the growing strain of maintaining the biodomes and a livable environment was quickly worsening the division between the communities.
Briatta, Aden, and Ellery had been raised in the same liminal space that Owena existed in; they were not quite fully integrated into high society, comprised of Ardorists, but they were not quite associated with the low society Ardorless, either. While Owena had done her best to give her nieces and nephew everything she could, she had always refused their requests to attend more high society events than were required to show their face each year. Instead, she’d taken them to the poorest district in Montclair, D’ivory, and told them they couldn’t return home until they’d each helped three people.
Then, Briatta had dragged her feet and wished she’d been dressed up and dancing with her friends from school. Now, she was thankful that Owena hadn’t allowed her to become too comfortable with her life, especially as two entirely different paths stretched out before her, each just as possible as the other—though one was far more terrifying.
On one road, Briatta would leave her Choosing with Ardor. She would become a full-fledged member of high society and play an important role in the livelihood of her people. On the other road…Briatta would join low society, and her value as a contributor to their life on Carceron would plummet. She would slowly be pushed away by the friends she’d made in school, in which she’d only been able to enroll because she was related to Owena, and she would have no one.
No one but her family and the Night Roses.
Briatta told herself it would be enough. But as she stood, hugging her aunt goodnight, leaving the office and heading to her room, she had difficulty believing it.
She cast one last look at Owena, who was disappearing into her own room. Briatta sometimes wondered if Owena had become such a skilled vigilante to compensate for the lack of power within. Her aunt had always maintained that power was subjective, and most people only chose to see it manifested as Ardor, firmly believing one would be a fool to disregard the unassuming.
Briatta just hoped she would be more. That people wouldn’t even consider her unassuming in the first place.
Chapter 4
“Can we go to the market today, Owena?” Ellery asked the following morning after training, flopping into a seat at the dining table and quickly twisting her brown hair into a long braid down her back.
Each week, on the day after Seren, a market popped up in the middle of Montclair near Parkette Street. Because Ardorists needed to work every day of the week anyway, and most others had to work twice as hard to contribute to their survival as a whole, there wasn’t a perfect day for a market, not even Seren. The market taking place the day after was the result of a longstanding tradition established by King Novak in Srila, and the one in Montclair was always bustling with activity, good food, and was one of Ellery and Briatta’s favorite places to visit. Since school had ended along with the conclusion of the Cycle of Wind two cycles ago and wouldn’t continue until the Cycle of Water—which would come two cycles later, after the next Cycle of Silence—Ellery had more free time than usual.
“Sure,” Owena said, smiling. They didn’t have anywhere to be until Briatta’s afternoon Founders Hall session, followed by pretending that she was having a lesson with Owena, so it was a good way to fill the day. Aden was not home anymore, as he’d returned to stay in his apartment near the firehouse until the day they would leave for the Founders.
They decided to go by foot for the long walk to the main square by Parkette Street, but before they left, Owena arranged for Petyr to pick them up later.
As they neared the market, Briatta walked past open storefronts with colorful clothes, plants growing in handmade and hand-painted pots, food stalls with sugary pastries behind glass displays, and people bargaining at every single one.
Vibrantly hued tents surrounded the perimeter of the town square. Each vendor hawking out their wares and invited people to come and look. Briatta had seen this market set up hundreds of times, but her heart always swelled at the exuberant display of color and vitality. It was a bright sign of life amidst the deluge of end-of-the-world propaganda being spread by Kalaiden, the activist group.
“This is amazing.” Ellery sighed happily. “I say it every time, but somehow it always gets better.”
