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CHAPTER 5
The sun was high inthe sky the next morning as I walked down the Path of Three, the stone road that led through the center of the city from the castle to the Temple of the Three Sisters. I might have taken a horse or called for a carriage or even a palanquin, but I preferred the exercise.
Besides, I had dressed simply and it was rare for anyone to recognize me beyond a simple friendly greeting. I wore a plain black tunic, linen breeches of dark wool, high leather boots, and my customary cloak. The spring morning was cool so I could get away with keeping my hood up. My long hair was in its customary plait, braided from the crown of my head to the nape of my neck.
Standing on the highest peak in the city, the first you saw of the temple was a monumental rectangular building of white marble. Eight columns were arranged in a row at its front with a grand pediment decorated with carvings of the three goddesses. The temple was second only to the sprawling castle complex in its size and secretly I had always thought it exceeded it in grandeur.
As you passed beneath the pediment, you entered a spacious courtyard where three massive statues stood. To the left stood Devina, goddess of the hunt and ruler over the natural world. She wore a helmet and armor over her long tunic, and held a spear in one hand. Her other hand was held aloft to catch the moon from the sky. There was a laughing expression in her eyes that I had always appreciated. She looked light-hearted and clever, like someone you might actually want to go hunting with.
The sculpture of Zorya, goddess of the sun, stood in the center, towering over both her sisters. Shaped from the same gleaming pale marble as Devina’s, she stood with her arms outstretched, as if summoning the first light of the new dawn. Her form was depicted in exquisite detail, every muscle and curve of her body perfectly defined. Her long fair hair curved in graceful waves down her back, while her face was etched with a look of strength and serenity.
To the far right stood the statue of Marzanna, goddess of death and the seasons. In contrast to her sisters, her body was chiseled from a dark obsidian. Marzanna was a regal but foreboding figure. Her eyes were cast downwards as if she were inspecting the worshippers below. Around her neck, she wore a necklace of bones and skulls, a symbol of her embrace of death itself, while in her hand she held a sharp-looking sickle.
The courtyard was busy with activity as worshipers milled about, leaving offerings to the goddesses–flowers and plants for Devina, offerings of grain or small knives for Zorya the most powerful of the Three, and small rolls of parchment or vellum scrolls for Marzanna.
Two smaller shrines were off to the sides. The neglected siblings.
The first of these was for Perun, the god of the sky, thunder, lightning, and storms, and brother of the goddesses. A small sculpture of Perun rendered from gray stone decorated his altar. I saw a few soldiers near the shrine, kneeling or placing their weapons on the altar to be blessed. Some looked as if they were not from Camelot. I understood Perun received a little more attention elsewhere in the kingdom than he did in the capital.
In another shadowy corner of the courtyard, there stood an even smaller shrine with no one around it. This was dedicated to Nedola, the fourth sister of the pantheon of goddesses, goddess of fate and destiny. Her shrine was far less ostentatious than the others, but I thought it was still beautiful. A finely wrought silver statue of Nedola stood at its center, her eyes closed in deep contemplation as if she were listening to the winds of fate themselves.
Beyond the courtyard lay the second part of the temple, a circular building roofed with a bronze dome with a small opening in its center. Beneath the small opening lay a small chamber that only the high priestess was permitted to enter and in the center of that small chamber hung a bronze lantern that held the perpetual flame of our city.
Legend had it that if the flame were to ever burn out, the city would fall.
Other buildings attached to the temple housed the young acolytes and priests and priestesses. Galahad had lived there for the past two years and it was where he spent most of his time.
Unlike some of the noble children who were dedicated to the goddesses when they were small and sent there to live at a very young age, Galahad had chosen to become consecrated, giving up his worldly possessions and preparing to make vows of celibacy.
“My lady!”
I turned as I heard Merlin’s voice ring out–and so did others around me. As they turned to stare at me I wished Merlin had not called out so loudly.
A few of the more devout sank down onto their knees, looking reverently between myself and Merlin as she glided towards me, her dark hair swept up in beautiful braids, her pure white vestment bound tightly against her breasts with a golden girdle.
I gritted my teeth, knowing she had drawn attention to my arrival on purpose.
My presence, as she had told me more than once, was a reflection on the temple itself. My eventual consecration would be like a marriage between the royal house and the goddesses.
Perhaps marrying the goddesses would have been very well if I were Lancelet. I choked back a sacrilegious snigger.
“High Priestess Merlin,” I said calmly as she came towards me. I lowered my voice. “I have told you more than once that you may use my name.”
