60 Main Urecari Church, Olabar
While Adreala made preparations to depart with her grandfather, her younger sisters said their farewells and approached the looming church as new acolytes. Istala and Cithara went by themselves, as was tradition, leaving all past connections behind.
The girls presented themselves as meek supplicants at a tall wooden door designed to intimidate and dwarf all who entered. Looking at the imposing barrier, Istala quoted from Urec's Log: “All are insignificant before the glory of Ondun.”
When the doors opened, the two passed through into echoing halls where the priestesses welcomed them, blessed them, and asked the girls to scribe their names onto a ribbon of clean white silk, which they tossed onto a smoldering brazier. As the smoke curled up, one old sikara said, “Now your names and lives are sealed in service to Urec and his church.”
Despite the girls' breeding, the priestesses gave them no special consideration. The church was their only family now, but Istala and Cithara understood politics well enough to know that they would rise quickly in the hierarchy. This was the surest way for a woman to gain power, prestige, and importance in Uraba.
For the first three days, the girls were assigned traditional duties as newcomers: emptying chamber pots, scrubbing dishes, working in the laundry. They bedded down on pallets in a communal sleeping chamber. Cithara realized that such humble activities were designed to teach acolytes obedience, and she performed them dutifully.
On the fourth day, the two girls were ushered to an office deep inside the church. In the windowless room, Ur-Sikara Erima sat at a desk lit with scented candles. The church leader was tall and gaunt, with prominent cheekbones and dark woolly hair cropped short except for two long locks that dangled at each side, weighted with red beads. Large gold rings hung from her ears, contrasting with skin the color of mahogany, and her brown eyes had a glazed and distant appearance. She spoke in a tumble of words, as if she had memorized what she was supposed to say. “I welcome my two newest acolytes into the joy of service to Urec and his teachings.”
Istala bowed with great reverence. “Ur-Sikara, I have dreamed of becoming an acolyte in your church.”
Erima paused for a long moment, as if drifting. “Not my church, child. Urec's church.” Cithara noted that the ur-sikara seemed drugged, her words faint and slurred. “You are both important to us, as well. You must learn the secret ways of the priestesses. We will be watching you.”
Distracted, the ur-sikara picked up a lutelike musical instrument with three strings and a long curled neck. She plucked the strings, creating a wailing atonal sound that pleased her, though Cithara found it jarring. Erima had apparently forgotten the girls were still there, and two red-robed women hurried in to usher the girls away. They were sent back to their studies and given documents to copy and memorize.
The next week, Istala and Cithara were assigned to different groups to learn, to sing, and to study. While saddened that they couldn't continue together, the girls did as they were told.
For several days, Cithara was tested alone. Priestesses questioned her about her life in the Olabar palace, her relationship with Mother Istar and her two half-sisters. She was asked to describe how the soldan-shah regarded her, what she remembered about her true mother, Cliaparia.
In a calm voice, she answered every query as fully as she could, but as one sikara after another continued to press for details, the girl began to wonder why the church had such a specific interest in her former family life. Cithara didn't believe that every acolyte was the subject of such scrutiny. Finally, the girl's patience reached its limit. Her repeated answer became, “I simply wish to become a sikara.” But the priestesses did not find her responses acceptable.
On the fifteenth day, her questioners led her through the winding stone halls, and she recognized the way into the ur-sikara's main chamber. Again, Erima sat at her table looking sleepy and distant. When the church leader did not deign to notice her, Cithara asked boldly, “Why am I being asked so many questions?”
Erima's gaze swiveled toward her with apparent effort. “You have a special role in the church.”
“What special role?”
She merely repeated, “A special role in the church.”
Cithara decided she would get no further answers from this woman. In earlier years, when addressing huge crowds, the ur-sikara had been an intimidating woman with a strong personality. Now Erima seemed like a shell, a rudderless ship.
Abruptly, an older priestess appeared at the doorway and took Cithara's arm in a firm grip. “Come with me, girl. It is time for you to begin a more important phase of your instruction.”
Wanting answers, the girl turned her back on the ur-sikara and followed. “Why am I being treated differently from the other acolytes?”
“You have other obligations. Now be silent.”
Without further conversation, the woman led her to a door that opened to a steep stairwell where torches lined the walls. They descended more and more stairs until they were surely belowground, and for the first time Cithara began to grasp the scope of the church's catacombs.
At last they arrived at another candlelit chamber, where plush tapestries covered the walls to disguise the fact that this isolated cell was far from the open air and sunlight. Decorative stands displayed polished fern fossils.
A woman waited for her, older than Erima and with a greater presence. Her hard eyes held an inner fire. Cithara instantly guessed that this woman was the real power in the Urecari church.
“I've heard great things about you, child. We believe you have the power to save Uraba from certain doom.”
It took Cithara a moment to recognize the face from a painting she had seen in a section of the Olabar palace. “I know you. Everyone believes you are dead.” It was not a question, and there was no fear. “You are Villiki.”
This woman, the wife of Soldan-Shah Imir, had been banished long ago, turned out into the streets, and was presumed to have perished.
“Exiled. Not dead.” Villiki smiled, pleased to be remembered. “You may recognize my appearance, child, and you may know my name, but do not presume that you know me. That will happen in time, as I devote extra care to your training. You, Cithara, have a very special destiny.”