The Sighs of the Priestess

This is an offshoot of another tale of mine, "The Witch's Want", which is just beginning as well. In the first chapter of that, I offered a look at what transpired between the two people who were the parents of the male protagonist in that story, and it was suggested to me in a comment that it might be nice to see more of the couple themselves.

So I thought about that and what the hell, you know? So here goes. I hope this is enjoyed. I did copy and paste a few lines from the other tale here and there, but not all that much. This happens long ago in a place far away - depending on where you live, of course. :)

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The only light in the deserted market square came from the sky and it wasn't much. Rats were working over what bits of the day's refuse there were to enjoy when the vibrations came to them through the ground. One after another they stopped and looked around a bit nervously until there was a sound to go with what they felt. Several of the rodents hid themselves away a little, but most felt no fear in the sounds of approaching hooves.

He sat in the saddle peering hard ahead. He trusted his war horse to find the best path for himself to a large degree, but he was still in charge of the route. He looked up and muttered to himself. Until the moon rose, there wouldn't be much to be seen at all.

The other side of that was that no one could see him, and that was all to the good, but later, he thought, ... later when he returned there would be plenty of moonlight to see by. That was what he didn't particularly like.

His road took him near to the crowded jail and he rode a little more cautiously, searching the shadows with his eyes as best he could. He was almost completely past it when a thin apparition detached itself from the surrounding shadows to step carefully closer to the middle of the road as he came.

He reined his horse to a stop and looked down in a bit of amazement.

"I did not really expect to find you here this night," he said.

"I said that I would be here, "she said, "and you did expect me, I think, or you would not be here. You gave your word, and I know you enough that you would stand by it," the old woman smiled as he dismounted.

"Such a beast you ride," she said quietly, "How am I to get up?"

"After everything here, my friend," the soldier smiled, "I am sure that you will find the courage to allow me to lift you."

As she found herself a little sprawled over the brute's back and sought to get herself positioned, he swung up carefully behind her. "He is as any horse, though if there is anything different about him, it is that if I urge him forward and the way is blocked with men, it is their hard luck, my friend. This one doesn't care a fig about riding men down. A little sad to say, but he is what I often need then."

He carefully put one arm around the old woman and told her to have no fear. He didn't see it of course, but she smiled. After clearing the gates and feeding the sentries a good lie, it wasn't long before they flew along the road and the old woman began to grin. A minute later, she began to mutter her prayers and invocations, seeking strength and the will to finish what had been begun.

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There were still fires burning in the town the fortnight before when he'd first met her. He'd been a part of the conquering army that had swept the defenders here aside, though he'd been nowhere near the place he was sent on the lord general's personal orders afterward.

As order was being established over the subjugated lands and people, He'd been given a task that he found a bit unpleasant from a personal view. He had no qualms or fears about being in the clash of opposing forces and smashing heads, rib cages and throats in the vicious and bloody trade of dealing death close at hand. It was what he was there for. It wasn't necessarily what he'd have wanted to be doing, but it was what fed him, and so it was his life.

He'd been sent to finish the sacking of one particular temple. His orders were to leave nothing unturned and seek out what might have been overlooked in the way of riches or holy artifacts. It was important to the general that anything of this sort be removed from anyone's ability to replace or remake anything out of this, and when he was certain that there was nothing more to find or retrieve, ...

He was to complete the total destruction of the temple.

That was what had bothered him. It was one thing to destroy a people's will and hopes. That was war, and that was how the business of conquest was carried out, if one did it properly.

But the desecration of a holy place -- a temple to some pretty powerful gods by what he'd heard, well that was something that he really wanted no part of, and not only from the queasy feeling of doing something wrong in that regard. It was something that was just wrong to him to begin with.

Shortly after the last of the fighting, an old woman came to ask to see the commander of the garrison. She offered her help in finding what was sought, even before the commander or the lord general had thought of it. And of course, once the flame of that idea was set in their minds, they made her a prisoner until the one fighter who could be entrusted with such a task to the lord general's mind could be freed from his other duties and set to this task, and given the men and the horses with which to accomplish it.

He took her to the place day after day, and she pretended to sift through the dust looking for things. But in a little while, she began to speak to him as an old woman would, and then it turned to how an old woman would speak to her nephew, and finally to her own son.

He listened attentively as she read to him from the inscriptions on the pillars that remained standing and she told him of how the place had once looked with lush plant life both inside and outside. She gave him an appreciation of what it had all stood for and then she spoke to him of the gods which it had been dedicated to.

Many people took one look at him and made their assumptions, thinking him cruel, or brutish or stupid and unfeeling, but she didn't. She knew that he could be like that, but usually wasn't that way at all, and he listened to her for hours as they walked while she pretended to look for what was wanted as she taught him the religion out of his interest. She knew him to be kind, and have a caring heart under all of that cruel-looking might and she was planting seeds in her garden as it followed her around and listened.

After a time, she read to him of other things -- what was written on tablets which she somehow managed to pull out unscathed from the rubble in some miraculous way. A few days after that, she found a few trinkets and baubles so that he could take them back to the commander before any patience was worn thin.

He'd submitted to searches of his gear and belongings every time, until the lord general got wind of it and had come storming in to put some fear of some god or other into the commander. This one, the lord general told him, could be trusted if there was ever one who could be. This one would execute his orders to the letter every single time, and he had better not hear that the fighter had been subjected to any more of this humiliation or the commander would find himself fighting on the line again before he knew it.

When enough treasure had been found to satisfy the lord, the old woman had pulled the soldier aside one day. "Our time here is coming to an end," she said. "All that remains are two tasks; one for your general, and one for me, my young and handsome friend."

It had made him laugh to hear it. "Your eyes look fine to me, mother," he'd said, using the polite and respectful term for an elderly woman there. "Even before I was given the gifts of these scars, the only one who said anything like that of me was my own mother, for any mother sees her son as the fairest anywhere. Tell me want it is that you want and I will see if it may be done. You have shown me kindness and given me help in this unpleasant task and I would repay you if I could, but mark you, I think that it would be best if you were not here to see the last of what I must do here, though I do not want to."

She shook her head, "I must see it for myself, my friend, so do not trouble yourself over it. But there is something here which must not be given over to your lord. I hope that you have it in you to do what I would ask. The things that I would entrust to you must be given to another of my kind."

He'd had a suspicion anyway, but now stared at her, "You -- you are one of them, one of the missing priestesses who are being hunted."

She nodded, "Yes. What better place to hide than in their prison?" she smiled. "They will seek to kill me anyway once my usefulness is at an end. It matters not -- if you can find it in you to help me."

He took a deep breath and then he nodded, "Tell me, then."

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The next day, they stood together a little way off, and when she told him that she was ready, he nodded to the men leading the teams of horses. With their yells, whistles and a few curses, the horses strained against their harnesses and the last two standing pillars of the temple crashed down.

Despite what she'd said to him, the old woman hid her face against his chest and wept.

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They rode through the night as the moon rose steadily, coming at last to the ruined temple. He helped her down and she led him to a place in the rubble. "Please move these fragments," she said, "I grow weak now and cannot do it anymore."

"I cannot see here in the dark," he said.

He watched as she produced a small oil lamp from her cloak. He knew that it couldn't contain any oil if it had been there, but he stared as she held it in one hand and passed her other hand over it and when her hand was past, a small flame remained to burn in the lamp. It wasn't possible, he knew. There was more than a night breeze at work now and there was no oil lamp anywhere that would have held its flame here.

When the place was clear, she sang to herself softly and with curious hand movements, and tones from her voice, she caused sections of the stone panels to move, seemingly of their own volition. She reached in and drew out a cloth envelope of some sort.

"I placed this here when we first came, you and I," she said. "Over our time here, I have searched for what you needed, and while doing that, I have gone to hidden places in these stones and taken out these things to place them here against this one night and this one chance."

"I wish now that I knew your mother for I would tell her of how proud she could be in you. She has done well to raise you to such a man, fearless and strong, and yet you have a good heart in you as well. You would do what is right when you see it and have a way that it may be done. It is a rare thing hereabouts."

"My mother is dead," he said to her, "Bandits came out of the hills one night and slew my mother and my father as I was shepherding in the upper pastures. I was but a boy then of fourteen. I sold all of our flock and then I joined the army, since it was steady work and they promised me that they often hunted the same bandits, so I soldiered until I got my chance at revenge. Then I stayed, and here I am."

The old one nodded, "A sad thing to hear, "she said, "I will try to find her if I may in the spirit world soon. I will be sure to tell her that you grew to be a good man. It is all that any boy's mother yearns to hear."

He was still struggling with her words, but she laid her hand on his scarred cheek, "While we rode here, I told you the things that you need to remember, over and over, though you did not listen, thinking that I only muttered -- the name that you must seek to hear, the one that you must look to find. It will seem unachievable to you, but you must not give it up, and you do not have to search very hard, if my dreams hold true. You must only remember in time. That one will need help from you."

"There is now a small papyrus roll in the pocket of your cloak. Hide it in your cuirass close to your shining heart," she slapped his broad chest. "Keep these things hidden against the day that you find the one that I need you to find."

He stared at her, and she smiled up at him. "Do these things for me, son," she said, "and you do them for the one who needs them and maybe for yourself too. My gods are mighty and cruel, but they are also kind in their way. I have a hope that they will smile on you for your kind interest and the way that you have learned some of our ways and for doing this if it can be done."

The old one seemed to struggle with a pain in her chest for a moment and then she smiled again. She handed him the small rolled pouch. "There is a space in the layers of the leather of your saddle where your right leg sits. Hide this there, and guard it if you can. Give this to the one. It will make all of this better in many ways."

She bent down and picked up the lamp, setting it on a ledge. She carried on speaking, but the soldier stared at the face which was no longer quite so old.

"If you find that one, say that the lock is passed and that I wait at the gated bridge for the new high priestess. Say this to me now and remember it if you can for when it is darkest."

He struggled with it, his mind full of questions, but she was patient, knowing him. She held off his questions until she was satisfied, and then she gave him his answers.

"This is all passing, but only for a time. Our faith renews itself always and you are now the proof, though you do not think it is so. But you know enough to be taught the rest now. Thank you for your kindness and help. I am certain that you will be blessed for it. I go on alone now."

She straightened to kiss him softly and then smiled, only a middle-aged woman now and not so bent from her years. "Do not fear the moon's light. No one will see you as you pass. Fare you well, fighter." She began to walk away.

He called out to her, "But, the jailers..."

The stones which had moved now slid back to their original places as she turned back once before walking away down the ruined steps, "What of them? They will find the cold corpse of an old woman in the morning."

The lamp blew out in the breeze and he heard her soft laughter as it faded. When he looked again, he was alone.

He picked up the lamp carefully and found that it was cold and empty, as though it had never been lit in the first place. Walking to where he could look for her, he saw nothing, though the moon was now full and lit the landscape fairly brightly.

He slipped the lamp into his cloak and felt the roll of papyrus. It was a little-used writing material in this place, but he supposed that it was better than trying to keep a clay tablet from breaking. He pulled it out and carefully slipped it inside the studded leather cuirass which covered his chest.

He walked to where he'd tied his horse and found the place in the saddle, wondering how she'd worked the stitched layers apart as they rode. With a little effort, he slipped the pouch inside and he couldn't find any lump at all.

He climbed into the saddle and turned the horse back to the town. When he got there, he found all of the sentries asleep. There was no one to challenge him as he rode past quietly.

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Half a year later, the battle-scarred fighter walked along the corridor following the young palace servant. His head still ached a little from the wine of the feast the evening before and that was fine -- since there was a plausible explanation for it. But this here, he thought, as they walked in silence, this made him feel a little as though he was still drunk.

"Tell this to me again," he said, "I heard what was said by the lord general, but this makes no sense to me here. Why is this being heaped upon my head?"

The servant turned his head as he walked, "It is because you are said to have saved the general's life in the last battle at Kisura a fortnight ago. It was seen by many. Everyone talks of it. I have even heard the tale myself. It is said that you killed ten at the least and wounded twice again as many to get to him and then you stood back to back with him as you fought and killed many more, bellowing for others to come to you both. I have heard that you both had to stand on the dead as you fought."

The youth turned to look at the fearsome warrior. "I do not know how you do it," he said, "I could never do what you do; face the things that you face."

He wouldn't ever dare say what he really thought, but the sight of this mighty and rugged fighter would be in his mind later that night in the dark. He turned to look ahead again as he led the man.

The warrior blinked as he looked at the servant's slender shoulders and hips as they walked and noted the movement of those hips under the tunic. In his entire life, he'd never seen a man walk this way before he'd been posted here after the battle. Here, he saw this not infrequently, but only in the palace and only certain young men did this.

He shook his head and his gaze flicked up just in time to be looking when the servant looked back at him. He was surprised at the slight hope that he saw there. He couldn't believe it. What was this fool playing at, swaying his hips in an almost feminine way?

It came to him a second later and he grunted to himself quietly. Not in this lifetime, he thought to himself.

"You couldn't face an angry bee dressed as you are, and you'd need a bit more strength to you than what I see. You can't get that strength by lifting only platters and goblets to offer food and drink." He put his hand on the servant's shoulder to stop him for a moment. The young man almost groaned.

"And anyway," the soldier said, "it is not exactly a choice that is given to me. I fight when I must fight. If I stand, I die. If I fight stupidly or half-heartedly, I die. All that is left then is to fight hard and for my life."

He winked, "And if I do a good job at it, then I only MIGHT die. The worst is the first time that you kill another," he said, as though it was nothing, "you would likely lose your last meal right then, but there is no time to think on it, and besides, the thought comes to you that he was trying very hard to kill you only a moment before."

He grinned, "That makes it all so much easier."

The servant felt a slight shiver run through him over what was said, and a stirring at the touch of this man combined with a thrill of fear and uncertainty. He looked at the scarred face, suddenly understanding why all of the fighters drink so much at their feasts. In his heart, he yearned to know the touch of a man like this, but he didn't think they had to be all that bright to do what they did.

They walked in silence for a minute before the fighter continued, "I have new duties. What of them?"

The palace servant rolled his eyes, since the brute behind him couldn't see it and didn't seem to be interested in him. "Yes. You are to train the soldiers so that they may all fight like you and not look as though they were drunkards swinging rakes at flies." He turned back to look at the fighter, "I wouldn't know the difference, nor have I seen you in battle. But if the lord general commands it..." He left the statement unfinished.

"And I am to be given quarters, permanent quarters."

"No," the servant said dryly, "You have already been given quarters. We go there now. I have seen to it that everything in your tent has been brought there -- including the tent. I was given help to roll the tent up properly, though I don't know why it cannot be folded neatly like a blanket, but it is there now as well."

"You roll the tent so that it may be carried on horseback," the fighter said, "It is the only way that it would work. But I can understand it if you did not see why at first. You cannot carry a stack of neatly folded things on the round back of a horse."