It all started the summer my little sister was to turn sixteen, the usual age for being sent into service for the Church. I had already been considered, briefly, then rejected. Everyone was expected to send in one child, if not more, to serve the Church, and there really weren’t any official rules about it, but our corner of the country tends to stick to its traditions. The eldest child tends to be the heir, the second the Service, and the third usually marries or goes into trade. My little brother was going to become a doctor, an upright, respectable trade for the youngest child of the gentry. His future was all planned out, and he was only thirteen. Only seven months away from being fourteen, as he constantly reminded us, but still only thirteen. It was my sister that surprised us all.
Us Sotley girls have always been headstrong – I think it comes from the land. Something about the stones and rocky soil gets into our spirits, and we just can’t stand aside and let things walk over us. But no-one ever expected timid – comparatively – little Mary-Rose to protest her place and buck tradition. She was always small and quiet, always the one to know the histories. We never expected her to do anything but accept and comply with the fact that she was to be the one to enter the Temple – the only direct service to the Church near our estate suitable for a young lady. Everything else would be farming or the sort, and sending in tithes. Mary-Rose just is not – was not – cut out for that sort of thing.
Everything was planned out. Then she fell in love.
It was horrible. There were fights, she was told she was only fifteen, there was screaming, there were tears. Roswell and I stood at the doorway and listened to every fight the first week, then gave up and simply retired elsewhere. The shouts were loud enough to be heard echoing out of the study, out of the dining hall, out of the sitting room to half the Hall. It simply went on and on and on.
No matter how many times she was reminded of her duty to Church and family, she refused. There were, she argued, still two other children that could be their heir or sent into the Church, or even both. She had a point. Roswell wanted to be a doctor so badly, had put so much of himself into it already, apprenticing himself informally to the local medicine woman and visiting the doctor in the next village over every week. Roswell had found his calling in the traditions and expectations set out for him at birth, but I was still a wild card.
True, I was the heir, and I loved the land, but there was always something missing, something more that took me away when I dreamed of nothing, staring off into space. I was other, I was strange. Loved and accepted, but still something else. Mary-Rose had a point. I could go.
It was eerily coincidental that it was then, among all this personal drama, the Momesse unleashed the greatest drama the country had seen for quite some time: she announced her intention to take on an heir. Any and every girl or woman in the entire country of Sphera was eligible, so long as they were of upstanding moral character, pure of heart, and able to withstand the rigors of the quest. Whosoever first found the diadem of Our Lady - a mystical artifact able to call down rain for the thirsty land, summon storms for the land to fight - whosoever first found it was deemed worthy enough to serve in our highest office. The obstacles and challenges of the journey – physical, mental, emotional, spiritual – were there to cull the weak and power-hungry who sought the office simply for power.
This was a sign for me from the Lady. I could go. I was to go.
Finally, one day, I could not take it anymore. Gathering up my courage, I knocked on the study door in a momentary lull of shouts. It would have been nice to say that one of my parents had ominously said ‘enter,’ or something equally dramatic, but as it was, they were exhausted from the weeks of fighting with a sentimental teenager whose heart and mind were set on a path they did not wish for her. Instead, I received a tired “Come in.”
I took a deep breath, my hand on the doorknob. The moment I walked in there and said my piece, there was no turning back. Would it be worth it? Was I sure? Should I do this, or should I just let them finish up their fight and let the dice fall as they may?
I walked in.
Our study was much like any other found in the Hall of the mid-nobility. There were some desks, one for each member of the household old enough to conduct business, a nook with some children’s texts and stories, and the rest books of study and leisure, religion and personal interest. Letters were carefully stored in pigeonholes above the desks, and journals chronicling the family histories, both formal and informal, had their own shelf near a window. It was a cheery room, mostly blond wood and cherry red fabric, a large fireplace for the winter currently swept clean and a potted plant in the grate. My parents sat in overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace, my father leaned back, my mother erect as usual, eyes half-closed. Mary-Rose stood before them, tongue stuffed in her cheek, arms crossed, and an expression on her face I had only ever seen before on a mule.
I sketched a bow before straightening up and nodding at each of them.
“Mother. Father.” They both waved away the formalities, and I knelt before them.
“Primrose, what do you wish?”
“I have been listening these past weeks to the debate that is cutting the bond of family between us all.” I looked up. My father had leaned forward and my mother had opened her eyes fully. “After much consideration, I have a solution that may work for us all.”
“Yes?” My father always pushed for me to learn quickly, add my weight to discussions as the heir. He would listen to me, but I was not sure how he would react. Mary-Rose would latch on to my solution like a rope in quicksand, anything to follow her own path. My mother was a wild card.
“You have three children. Traditionally, Mary-Rose would be the one to go to the Church, Roswell would go into trade, and I would stay as the heir. Roswell could go in her stead, but he loves his calling as a doctor, and would better serve the community if he followed that path. Send me into the Church. The Momesse is currently seeking an heir, and if I die in the quest our family will have fulfilled its obligation to the Church. As second oldest, Mary-Rose would be my heir on the condition that Roswell may stay as long as he wishes. If I survive and succeed, I would remain the heir, but also become the Momesse, placing our family in a better position, allowing Mary-Rose to follow her heart and Roswell his calling, and putting our family lands back into the hands of the Church, as when our ancestress Rosalba Soterly was first granted the title.”
I glanced up. Everyone was looking at me thoughtfully. I could talk, yes, but usually I was interrupted long before now, especially since Roswell started talking eleven years ago.
“You raise a good point, my heir, but if you die in the effort we will have lost a member of our family. Is that a worthy price to pay for a young woman’s love?”
“It will be a sacrifice for my sister.”
“Could you really do that? Could you truly allow your sister to do such a thing for you?” He directed the last comment at my sister. She took a deep breath, bit her lip, and sighed.
She nodded.
“Very well. If you two are willing to go through with this, I cannot refuse you. However, I am only one of two. Your mother must agree as well.”
Mary-Rose and I turned as one to look at her, she with hope and I with apprehension. My mother took a long, hard look at us, eyes shifting from one sister to the other. Finally, she inhaled sharply, a habit of hers before saying anything important.
“You may go.”
I rose, numb with shock at being allowed to go, as Mary-Rose jumped to embrace me.
“I must set out immediately if I am to reach the capital in time. Where is Roswell? I wish to say goodbye to everyone.” Mary-Rose hurried out of the room, calling his name, as my parents looked at me.
“I am so proud of you for dedicating your life to the Church, my dear Prim, but at the same time, we may lose you.” My mother nodded and added, “We have a gift for you that we were waiting to give to you on your next birthday, but you have reached your age of majority, and it is a fitting time to give this to you now.”
From her pocket she pulled a small blue silk bag, embroidered with gold thread. It held the treasures of our family, heirlooms from the first of the Soterlys to us today as Sotleys. Inside was the first stone Rosalba touched on the newly named Soterly Estate, a pearl granted to our family from the Momesse herself two centuries ago, a silver thread many yards long, wrapped on a spool, with a knot for every person born or married into the Sotley family. Other treasures were held in there as well, but the last time I had seen them was at Roswell’s naming all those years ago, when the contents of the bag were spilled onto the altar.
With long, pale fingers, she pulled out a small silver ring set with a pearl and moonstones around the band. Carefully, she placed it in my hand and folded my fingers around it.
“This ring has energy stored in it with all the wisdom of our ancestors. Every one who touched Sotley land has imparted a pearl of wisdom into this ring. With the full moon and a high tide, their personalities are stronger, and you may contact their echoes. Its power waxes and wanes with the moon and the tides, but your family is always with you.”
I placed the ring on my right hand, staring at it in awe. Immediately I felt a whisper, then an aura of confidence settled on me and I straightened up. Roswell and Mary-Rose walked in, and I smiled at them.
“Farewell for now, my dear siblings, but do not worry, do not fret. I will come back twice an heir, and we shall all see each other once more in joy. Mary-Rose, I wish to see my baby nieces and nephews fat and happy when I return. Roswell, little brother, do well in your studies. I wish to see your practice thriving when I come back. Mother, Father, thank you. I will bring honor unto our family.”
And with that, I left. I went to my room, I packed supplies, I gathered foodstuffs for the journey. I walked through the Hall for the last time in what would be a very, very long time, and I walked down the road, turning only once to wave at the windows. Their faces were mournful and ecstatic, but they all watched me go. Then I was walking through the trees that formed a fairy hall, then I was down the road, then I was walking out the gates and into the village. Before long I had left that, and I was walking on her Holiness’ road to a brand new life, starting with the Holy City of the Waters, a busy port where the greatest minds and foremost theologians gathered. Anything could happen there.
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