CHAPTER 33

Lanri slowly returned to the shrine’s main hall, hearing the voices speaking the divine language getting louder and louder. They were harder to understand than she would have guessed, with the often harsh, deliberate syllables softened by conversational practicality.

She couldn’t see where the voices were coming from. Not yet. The statue had so obviously been missing from the present was very much still there in her hallucination about the past, and it completely blocked all view of the shrine’s main hall from within the vestry. From behind, the massive cut stone was but a feminine silhouette, a dark womanly shape, with the sparse lighting of the shrine catching the edges.

“I’m nervous,” said one voice. “What will I do if Lady Ishara does not desire my love?”

Lanri needed a moment to make sense of the sentiments, but it was feasible. As she slipped around the statue, she could see five people. Two were men, and three of them were women, all of them huddled around a small, temporary-looking wooden table that was covered in more little bowls of incense and the like.

“You worry yourself over nothing,” one of the men said, placing his hand on one of the women’s shoulders. “Ishara loves all, and the signs are there that you have her favor.”

The woman who seemed to be the center of attention was slim and beautiful. Tawny skin, richly brown eyes, and shortly cut black hair. She turned to the man soothing her, and forced a smile. “Thank you, high priest,” she said. “But you must understand that only my goddess can ease my worries.”

“And she will, Lorra!” One of the other attendants, a shorter woman with darker skin said, as Lanri walked closer to the group. They were all, without fail, gorgeous, and she was eager to understand all there was to know about them. “Look at her,” the attendant urged, and the whole group’s heads all twisted to look at the grand statue of Ishara at the heart of the shrine. “You love her, Lorra, and she loves you. You have no cause for fear.”

“I suppose it could be the same statue,” Seeker mused, mercifully speaking the divine language, too, rather than force Lanri to keep track of multiple languages in her mind. She was standing on the far side of the room with her arms crossed, watching the same events play out, but clearly more interested in Lanri’s reaction to them. For a moment Lanri ignored the magic, and instead appreciatively looked at the angel that had orchestrated this for her. This was an epic gift. Lanri could scarcely imagine something she wanted more than an opportunity to see the past with her own eyes like this.

“Are you ready?” The high priest asked, drawing Lanri’s attention back to the little group.

Lorra nodded, and the attendants all retrieved various paraphernalia from their temporary table before escorting her to the space a few meters in front of the statue. The aspiring priestess hesitated for a moment, then made a sign Lanri didn’t recognize at the statue before shedding her robes in one practiced motion.

The light fabric slid off of her, revealing more of her slim, downright beautiful form. She looked around at the attendants for a moment, all of them giving her encouraging smiles and nods. She sat down where she stood, crossing her legs and putting her hands on her knees with the palms facing up. She looked up at the statue with a nervous expression that melted into a stunned smile in mere moments.

Enchanted statue, Lanri concluded.

The attendants did the same. They dropped their robes, and sat down on the floor in a loose circle, all of them facing her. Unlike Lorra, they all wore the medallions of true priests, the symbols sparkling in the light of the torches. The one she’d called high priest was slightly different, with a circle of bronze surrounding his goddess’ sigil.

Lanri started to pace around the group as they worked. The high priest had two bowls; one of them holding a faintly yellow powder, and the other a reddish brown. He poured the contents of one bowl into the other and a little puff of dust rose as he stirred them together with his fingers.

“What the hell is he doing?” Lanri asked in a whisper. As she watched, the other man of the group offered him a bowl with something liquid inside while the two attending women leafed through a stack of books and papers. A moment later they were unfolding diagrams of humanoid bodies decorated with elaborate patterns.

“I’ll give you a hint,” purred Seeker as she appeared behind Lanri and placed a kiss on her ear. “The powders were gold and copper.”

“Rose gold,” Lanri whispered, as she tried to picture what Ishara’s sacred metal might be used for. Before she could come up with any theories, however, the high priest took the bowl with the viscous liquid and stirred that in with the powdered metals. He quickly made them into a viscous paste as one of the priestesses found the right page of her book and put it on the ground in front of Lorra, next to the diagram.

The tawny woman did not look away from the idol of her goddess, enthralled by the magic that permeated it and probably her own unfettered devotion.

“This is really how it happened?” Lanri asked. “So quiet and private?”

“It is,” Seeker agreed. “These days it’s a rowdy, public affair, reflecting Ishara’s new look on life.”

“I think I like this more,” Lanri whispered.

“Me too.”

The high priest shifted a little, moving closer to Lorra, and accepted a brush from one of the other priests. He dipped it in the thick copper and gold paste he’d created and – after only the briefest glance at the diagram – brought the brush to her chest. She gasped as soon as he touched her, blinking and looking around as the statue’s spell was broken.

“Don’t worry,” he soothed as he started to paint. In a few practiced motions, Ishara’s sigil was rendered on her chest, shiny from the oil, and sparkling from the metals suspended within. “She’s very captivating. There’s no shame in losing sight of yourself in her gaze.”

Lanri couldn’t help but agree. She’d never seen a statue of the goddess that didn’t have the power to fascinate all who looked at it. For the next few minutes, she watched the priests each take a turn with the metal paint, replicating the intricate patterns of the diagram on Lorra’s body. They painted her eyelids and the tips of her fingers and toes first, then a series of elaborate divine runes on her back, and stomach.

Lanri struggled to read them, until Seeker whispered them into her ear. “Before the divine I am naught. By its grace I am infinite. Without it, I am forfeit.”

Lanri swallowed and nodded, grateful for the help. She watched as the high priest urged the two priestesses to put away the diagram and paint, leaving only the opened book on the ground. “Lorra?” He asked. The aspiring priestess’ eyes darted to him, and she smiled, still as nervous as ever.

“I really hope she accepts me,” she whispered.

He smiled and nodded. “She already has. She just needs your help before she can show you.” There was a brief pause, and one of the other priests offered her a small glass vial full of a syrupy-looking liquid. The rest placed little bowls of incense around her and ignited them with whispered spells. “But you know you have to do the rest alone. If you’re ready, we’ll lock the doors, and wait for you outside.”

Lorra smiled in what Lanri assumed to be feigned serenity. “I won’t be alone for the rest. Ishara is with me,” she said.

“Exactly,” said the high priest with a knowing smile, as he and the other three assistants started to get up. Each of them whispered something into her ear that made the woman smile, blush, or both, then solemnly walked out while holding their robes in a bundle. At the front of the shrine, Lanri could just see them putting them back on in the dim light, before they closed the doors with a heavy thud.

“Wait,” said Lanri, quietly. “Alone? Weren’t you here for this, too?”

“I was,” said Seeker with a slight giggle. She pointed at one of the smaller statues flanking the hall, where Lanri could just barely see a shadow moving, now that Seeker had drawn her attention to it. “But they didn’t know that. Back then, Darishi liked to try to lead her faithful astray. I and a few others took turns keeping an eye on these things, in case he tried anything.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Lanri admitted.

Seeker grinned, and pointed at Lorra with her chin. “That’s because I did a very good job of keeping his claws off of ambitious acolytes like this. Nasty, spiteful creature.”

Lanri watched the priestess-to-be for a moment, as she contemplated the little vial. “Why didn’t you reveal yourself to her?”

“Because it’s not about me,” Seeker said again, walking to join Lanri, and embracing her. “She was giving herself to Ishara, not to me. She might have been honored to see me, but all of that Your Grace stuff would have distracted her from the matter at hand.”

There was a pause, and Seeker twirled a few strands of Lanri’s hair around her finger, with Lorra seemingly lost in idle thought. “I would not look kindly on someone interrupting us right now for the same reasons I would have earned Ishara’s ire by interrupting Lorra, Dear. Ishara guards her time with her mortals almost as jealously as I guard mine with you.”

“Almost?” Asked Lanri, looking over her shoulder with a slight giggle.

“Almost,” agreed Seeker. “She does genuinely love her Touched, make no mistake. But there are thousands of them for her to fawn over, while I will only ever have one of you.”

Lanri turned around, and pressed her lips to Seeker’s. “I–”

Seeker grinned and gestured that she should keep her eyes on Lorra. “You’re missing the show.”

Lanri did so, turning back to face Lorra just as she unsealed the bottle and drank its contents. Again, she made that sign Lanri didn’t recognize, but had no doubt was of profound importance. “What did she just drink?”

“A potion,” Seeker explained. “It lowers her inhibitions, and sedates her a bit. It fogs her mind up enough that she can’t think straight, and forces her to be honest to herself about why and if she really wants to do this.”

Lanri nodded and walked towards the image of the long-gone priestess to stand in front of her. She looked at the dark skinned acolyte for what felt like a long time, as she read the page the priests had turned the book in front of her to. Lanri watched and heard her mumble the words. She was reciting a long, intricate prayer to Ishara, and as she went along it was impossible not to notice when she started to slur her words, and her immaculate posture started to sag.

“–Lady… B–blessed Lady, who bestows on mortals our… most intimate pleasures. Ephemeral like us, a holy lesson to be learned from every lover–”

“She sounds stoned,” Lanri whispered.

“Oh, she was,” agreed Seeker, amusement obvious in her voice. “At this point, I could have told her I was here and I’d bet she would have just shrugged and continued.” Lanri tried to picture a priestess, or really anyone at all being so apathetic to Seeker, and found the idea to be absurd.

“–Lady, kind Lady, share your powers, that I might share myself with your… uhm…” Lorra trailed off. She was sweating, and looked around the room in a confused stupor, her pupils so wide Lanri could barely tell the color of her eyes. She looked from one statue to the next, scanning the walls and somehow missing the Seeker of her time, hiding in the shadows. She looked down at herself for a moment, at her hands which sparkled with the painted-on metal.

Then she looked straight at Lanri, and frowned.

Lanri yelped and took a step back, which elicited a fit of giggles from Seeker. “When you put yourself between a drugged acolyte and a statue of her god, you should really be prepared for strange looks, Dear.”

“What?” Asked Lanri, to which Seeker simply pointed behind her, at the looming statue of Ishara. “Oh. Right.”

“You don’t care about these things,” sighed Lorra, who broke her posture completely. She got to her knees and pulled at her hair in frustration before crawling forward a little bit. “You don’t care about… this!” She scoffed, gesturing at the prayer book, which she picked up, and threw over her shoulder, careless of where it went.

“What’s she doing?” Lanri asked, a little concerned.

“She’s talking to Ishara,” Seeker said, though she didn’t look at the angel. She kept looking at the faithful woman on her knees, looking straight through her as she poured her heart out.

“You care about me!” Lorra said. “You care about how I feel, you care about my passion, not about how well I recite a prayer written by a long-dead Pontifex!” Lorra’s voice took on a manic aspect despite the slur handicapping her oration and she smiled at Ishara. Lanri couldn’t help but watch it, utterly captivated by the display. “And I am passionate. I’m so, so passionate. I love my friends, I love my lovers, I love you my Lady, and all I want is for you to love me, too!”

Lanri smiled at the vision of the woman as she crawled forward a little more, and reached to her with one hand. “I want your help! I want your strength, and your guidance. I want to feel your grace always, not just at the height of the passions of my bedroom! I am yours, Ishara! I adore you, worship you, and I need you to be with me. With your help, with your power, I can be everything, but without you, I’m destined to be nothing.”

Every emotion Lanri could think of flashed across that beautiful face. Sheer elation at being vulnerable before her goddess, and a crippling fear of that vulnerability going ignored or being rejected. Lust, love, grief, ambition, and apprehension, they were all in there, in that maelstrom of feelings and passions.

“I will serve you, Ishara. Nothing will stop that. But without your Touch, it’ll be blindly. I don’t want to be blind, I want to see! I want to revel in your rewards when I please you as much as I want to writhe under your wrath when I earn your ire.”

Again, the young woman crawled a little closer, and had to tilt her head back a little more to keep meeting the statue and Lanri’s gazes. “I’m open to you, my Lady. A vessel for your power, an extension of your will. I beg you to make use of me.”

“She’s amazing,” whispered Lanri. Looking at her pleading, begging with her goddess to join her Touched, it sank in what Seeker had meant that she shouldn’t judge others. She admired this woman. She admired her zeal, and her passion, and some primal part of her just knew she deserved what she was asking of Ishara.

“She was,” agreed Seeker, thoughtfully. Lanri could see her the shadows of the shrine, loitering near the darkness from which she’d watched this centuries ago. “They all are, of course. None of the senior Touched would ever give the potion to someone wholly unsuited.”

Lanri watched Lorra for a while as she sat kneeling in desperate silence. She’d worked herself up to an excitement that bordered on frenzy as she’d spoken, and now that she was seemingly out of things to say she was slowly calming down and taking deep, panting breaths in the process.

The rush of adrenaline that had driven her to her passionate pleas seemed to be leaching from the woman quickly, the lethargy of the sedative and the crash coming together as she swayed in place.

Unbeknownst to Lorra, though, things were beginning to happen behind her. The embers in the bowls of burning incense flared up enough to glow the faint pinks and golds of Ishara’s fire, as if the goddess herself were there to blow on them. The smoke that rose from them grew thicker and heavier, and accumulated into a thick cloud where Lorra had been sitting.

But Lorra didn’t notice. She’d moved so much closer to the statue in her monologue that none of the incense was where she could see it. She stayed put, slowly slackening more and more, even as the cloud of smoke slowly took on the shape of a woman. Only a silhouette, vague and hard to define at first. But as more and more smoke poured off of the bowls, it joined that feminine form, and made the cloud thicker and thicker, until the edges became sharp, and features emerged.

She was as small as Lanri, but had a big mess of curly hair on her head, and finer features. She looked exactly like the statues, both the one she’d found the dress by and the one Lorra was praying to. Assuming they were even different statues.

“Ishara actually came?” Lanri asked.

“She did. And she didn’t.”

Lanri gave Seeker a confused look, as the smoky figure stood up, and started to pace around Lorra. “She’s a goddess, Dear. I could tell she was here, but Lorra couldn’t.”

She watched as the vision spoke for itself, and elaborated on Seeker’s point. Ishara’s avatar put a hand on Lorra’s head, and ruffled her hair fondly, like a master petting a loyal hound. The young acolyte’s sweaty hair barely moved, as if blown on by a breeze. It was enough to elicit a reaction, the woman’s eyes widening as she turned to look up at Ishara. But she didn’t quite seem to see her. Her eyes didn’t quite meet Ishara’s. She asked “my Lady?” But the question went unanswered.

“Did Ishara know you were here?” Asked Lanri, as she stared at the figure of smoke. She had a wonderful expression on her face. One that spoke of love for Lorra, and pleasure at her pleas.

“She did,” Seeker said with a nod. She’d come closer, Lanri realized. “It was Mischief’s idea to post Heartwardens as guards for the most vulnerable of Ishara’s faithful, but the Lady approved it, of course.”

Ishara’s smoke knelt behind the woman as Seeker spoke. She pressed her chest to the woman’s back, and wrapped her arms around her in a phantom’s embrace. Lorra shivered a little at the sudden touch, which she seemed to only barely sense. Yet reacted to it, all the same.

Lorra tilted her head in one direction as if stretching, and was none the wiser when the smoke placed a kiss on her neck. She didn’t seem to feel it when one of Ishara’s hands appeared on her shoulder, and gently stroked down along her arm until the hand of smoke came to rest on the back of her own.

The hand guided hers, helping it find its way between her legs as Ishara’s smoke grinned, and seemed to giggle inaudibly. “Ishara can do that?” Lanri asked. “Move people’s bodies?”

“She’s not quite doing that. Lorra didn’t know Ishara was there, nudging her in the right direction. She couldn’t tell Ishara was contr– guiding her. She didn’t even know Ishara was paying attention to her. She only felt the urge to move her hand, and the goosebumps on her skin.”

As Seeker spoke, the smoke’s lips moved. She whispered nothing into Lorra’s ear as she stroked the back of her hand, and Lorra giggled as she started to stroke her own sex. It was a soft, gentle thing. Not the rough eagerness with which one touches herself, but the gentle slowness of touching a new lover.

“I can’t hear what she’s saying,” Lanri told Seeker. She felt a strange mix of curiosity driving her to get the whole picture, and, despite the sheer thrill of seeing the past like this, a sense of guilt at watching such a private moment.

“Neither could I,” Seeker said. “Ishara allows us to see almost everything she does, but that doesn’t mean we’re capable of understanding all of it.”

Lorra let out a happy noise, part gasp, and part sigh, and Ishara seemed to urge her to continue, guiding her through everything she did. She’d started looking through Lanri again at some point, staring at the statue of her goddess with eyes that were glassy from exhaustion and lust.

“Does she do this to… normal people?” Lanri asked. She decided it was okay for her to watch this; Seeker had been the one to show it to her, after all. But the sight provoked so many thoughts, feelings, and questions. Regardless of whether she was supposed to see this, it filled her with a sense of rightness to have proof that Ishara guided people and helped them feel good, even though she’d already known she did that.

“Do you mean if she does it for you?” Seeker asked, stepping a little closer. She walked around the scene unfolding between them, and put a single finger on Lanri’s chest. “She does, in a way.”

“What do you mean?” Lanri asked, as Lorra giggled again and the sounds from her long-ago pleasure echoed through the shrine.

“This,” Seeker began, gesturing at Lorra and Ishara’s smoke, “is something she doesn’t do with just anyone. It’s a holy thing. It’s how mortals become her Touched. It’s how she lays claim to a person’s soul, and molds it to hold her power. The guidance she provides most mortals is far less personal and intimate.”

Lanri smiled at Seeker, then glanced at Lorra, who gasped as she curled her fingers into herself. “I wonder what that feels like,” Lanri whispered. “To have powers like you, or her. Or Ishara.”

Seeker pulled Lanri close again. Those blue eyes looked deep into hers, as if there was something the angel could learn about her that way. “Everyone you could ever ask would give you a different answer, Dear. The greatest of the Touched might say it’s like the missing piece of the puzzle that is their lives, while to an angel like me, it feels so natural that it would be hard to meaningfully answer the question in the first place.”

“I don’t–” Lanri started, but was cut off by a passionate gasp from Lorra. She glared at the vision of the past, as if that might somehow silence her. Seeker let out a short laugh, and Lanri continued. “I don’t understand.”

“Are you sure you don’t?” Seeker asked.

“What do you mean?”

“After Gorance… After you saved me and Ithella from him, you had a series of dreams, Dear.”

Lanri cocked her head at Seeker. “That’s vague. What do dreams have to do with any of this?”

“You dreamt about magic, Dear. I saw it as clearly as I can see your waking thoughts. You were so angry and righteous in that dream, and you used Ishara’s power instead of your wand to protect me.”

Lanri wasn’t sure what to imagine when Seeker said that. She tried to picture herself with Seeker’s powers, and as much as she did desire – and even thought she deserved – that kind of might, she couldn’t actually imagine using it.

“It’s something I’ve been trying to make sense of for weeks now,” Seeker admitted. “Because the picture your mind painted for you with that dream was exactly right.”

Lanri frowned. Now that she knew she’d had this dream, she desperately wished she could remember it. She’d, on occasion, felt like something was missing, like she was supposed to have these kinds of powers, but didn’t. If she could remember the dream, she would at least know what it was she craved.

She looked away from Seeker for a moment. Her eyes found Lorra, who was still kneeling and working herself to a peak of ecstasy. Ishara had moved around her, though. No longer did the ghost of smoke sit behind her. Instead, she knelt before her devotee, one hand still guiding the one she had between her legs while the other rested on her shoulder.

Looking at the scene, at the affection for Ishara writ large on Lorra’s eyes which the goddess was returning unbeknownst to her, Lanri didn’t think it looked so bad to be one of the Touched.

“No,” Seeker gently but firmly told her, drawing Lanri’s gaze back to her. “We’ve talked about this before, Dear. I understand the appeal of power, I really do, but I will not give you up to Ishara.”

Lanri swallowed. “I wasn’t–”

“Yes you were,” Seeker said. There wasn’t even a hint of chastisement to her voice. Whether that was because it was only the beginning of a lie she’d not even intended to finish, or because lying wouldn’t have worked regardless, Lanri didn’t know. Either way, the angel clearly wouldn’t humor her on that front. “You were thinking about it, and I get that, I really do. There’s not a mundane sapient being on Eitheris that doesn’t want to have ragira. But I will not allow it.”

Lanri nodded, defeated. “I understand.”

Seeker smiled. “I don’t think you do, Dear. I know you so, so very well. You would do magnificent things for people if you had ragira. I know you would. But it’s not worth the cost. Not to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You would need to be changed by her to be able to wield her power, Dear.” Seeker paused, and gestured at the smoke, coaxing Lorra ever closer to climax. With a tap to her forehead, Seeker again refocused Lanri’s attention on her. “And you are mine. Always and forever will that mind be mine, and knowing Ishara as well as I do, I wouldn’t want her to change a thing about it.”

That’s selfish. Lanri flinched at the thought, and regretted deeply that it had come to her.

“It is selfish,” Seeker agreed. “I’ve been myself for almost a millennium, and you’re the first time I’ve ever really loved someone, Dear. You make my heart sing and my chest tight. You are a treasure I will guard jealously. I want you to be happy, to live that candied life with me, and I do not intend to let anything get in the way of that. Not even your own ambition.”

Lanri felt suddenly small before Seeker. Seeker was authority, beauty, and power. She was every meaning of irresistible, and there was nothing for Lanri to do but accept what she was saying. “I am happy,” she said. “You did all of this for me, let me see the past for myself. It’s more than I could ever ask for.”

To their side, the moans and gasps escaping from Lorra’s lips became louder, and louder. She was trembling with anticipation, so very close to the apex of her pleasure, and–

The smoke leaned forward, and kissed her. It happened quickly, just as her toes curled, and her hips bucked. Her eyes went wide with passion and understanding, and for a moment Lanri could have sworn the woman could actually see Ishara as her irises and the paint on her body all glowed the pink and golden light of Ishara’s power. She let out a scream of sheer elation and delight which sounded muffled by Ishara’s lips, and wrapped her arms around the phantom in a very real embrace.

It lasted for a few seconds, a moment of complete contentment for the newly minted priestess. Her eyes spoke of purpose and bliss, with her lips locked together with those of her goddess. Lanri watched, enthralled, as the experience lingered. Then it started to wane. Lorra slumped into Ishara as they kissed, contented but unable to fight off what Lanri assumed was the potion finally overwhelming her.

When Lorra’s eyes started to drift shut and the glow in her bodypaint subsided, Ishara broke the kiss. “T–thank… you…” She whispered, as the form of solid smoke carefully extracted herself from the woman’s loosening grip. She gently laid her down on the ground, and helped her get comfortable on the stone floor. She then sat by her side for a while, fondly stroking her arm as she faded away, and Lorra fell asleep.

“That was beautiful,” Lanri whispered, as if the vision of the past might wake up and hear her.

“I agree,” said Seeker, wistfully. “It used to be a spectacular thing. Gentle, loving, and like you said, beautiful.” Her voice shifted a little, to a hint of disapproval she was clearly trying to suppress. “These days, her Touched are anointed not in a private, intimate ceremony like this, but a large, public display of debauchery. A display of lust, but not of love.”

“And you think that’s wrong?” Lanri asked, even as she felt in her bones that it was. Ishara was the goddess of love and lust both. Of the passion between teenagers as much as the tenderness of a married couple in their twilight years.

“It’s… not my place to think anything Lady Ishara does is wrong, Dear. And neither is it yours.”

Lanri swallowed, but nodded. “Of course. I–”

Seeker cut her off by tightening their embrace, and pressing her lips to Lanri’s. “And it wouldn’t be wrong for you to become a priestess, either. You would be great at it, I know you would be. But then what we – what you and I are – would be different. It would change you. I already exist in her shadow. If you were to join the Touched, so would you, and…” Seeker sighed. “And I’m scared that in that shadow, we might lose sight of each other.”

At that moment, the spell Seeker had cast on the shrine seemed to expire. The various lights around the hall grew brighter and brighter, and started to dance as they drowned everything out, just as before. Lanri didn’t watch the display this time, instead, she closed her eyes, and pulled herself tightly to Seeker.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ll never lose sight of you.”