Page 87 of The Cerulean Sister
She takes after her father, from what I can remember of the few times I saw him when he would bring her to visit me in the School of Divine Children. Leema hated that he said I looked more like our mother, in dark hair and complexion. He was kind and even encouraged us to know each other as sisters. I never asked him about my own father, as I was too busy pretending he was both of ours.
Another woman touches Leema's arm, and they lean into each other, giggling. When she turns to the side, I can see her rounded belly. She rubs it with such tenderness, the airy white fabric allowing her palm to glide up and down as she caresses the swell as if it is a baby in her arms.
I watch a lesser priestess beam at both Leema and the other woman and touch their bellies, as if it is not strange or improper at all. Her smile matches the priestesses’, and I think I have never seen her this happy. Maybe I have never seen her happy at all.
I have to look away to let the knot in my throat subside.
Crixa begins a basic ceremony, one I try to endure while I keep my eyes fixed on my lap. From the outside, I hope it looks like I am deep in atonement, but truly it is difficult to sit through Crixa's way of speaking all while I know my sister is hanging on every word. She bows her head like a priestess, watches the highest with awe, and looks more the part than I ever did.
Once Crixa has gone through her speeches, the portions of our history that are relative today, and made us bow our heads in prayer more times than I can count, she then stands higher up on the platform next to the giant statue of First Mother.
"Today is a very special day." She pauses, looking out into the congregation to build suspense. "I am happy to announce a daughter has been born in the Temple of Divine Mothers."
Some gasp and others happily murmur to the person next to them at the news. They are all so excited, but all I can sense is a dark, sinking feeling pooling at my feet, like the entire temple will lift off from the floor and rise into the sky. A heavy dread, like taking off for the first time in August’s ship with no control over anything but how hard I am gripping the pew.
"Yes, yes, yes, shush now." She laughs and holds up the bowl of moon water. "It is truly a blessing to be born on a conjunctionyear. May First Mother find her worthy of divinity and service. You will all witness, please stand."
A hush falls over the room as a woman slowly makes her way down the aisle with a linen bundle close to her breast. She looks down with such adoration, her eyes crinkling tightly at the sight of the sleeping baby in her arms.
An elder from that temple, not the mother.
I am the first person she walks by, the very first pew. When her eyes meet mine, expecting me to be smiling, she side-steps a little when met with my flat stare.
She continues down the aisle, smiling at each row and tilting the baby toward them to view it sleeping. Every priestess has silenced their contained joy, not wanting to wake her and ruin her first ceremony.
I scan the women in white for any indication that the baby’s mother will step forward to claim her or stand next to her as she is presented to Crixa. But they all gaze in wonderment.
I wish I had paid more attention in the past. I know I have seen a high priestess present her own child. The white veil looked so beautiful against her red hair, but her eyes grew so much redder as she cried when giving her divine daughter to Crixa. A ceremony was still performed to check for the presence of divinity, even though the mother’s line would ensure it. A tradition left over from the priestesses of old for any child born whose mother would allow it.
"High Priestess Esther." Crixa turns to the high priestess who steps forward, the one she spoke to before service. "First Mother in her everlasting wisdom passed the gift of divine sight to you from your mother’s line, since our beginning. Your lineage is in service to your priestess sisters, to the fostering of new ones. How do you serve today?" Crixa asks lower than normal.
"I serve willingly," Esther whispers, so gently I have to read her lips to fully understand.
Crixa bows her head and holds out the bowl of moon water for Esther to dip her hand in and swipe down her face. She stands in front of the elder priestess holding the child and smiles sweetly. She places her hand on the small bundle and closes her eyes.
A slight glow lights up Esther's hair, her veil blotting out some of the brilliance. Her skin shines with the same light as her brow crinkles.
When she removes her hand, she takes a large breath and turns to Crixa. Everyone in the temple seems to lean forward to hear her verdict.
She nods in confirmation, her veil rippling at the movement, and Crixa’s satisfied smile slashes her face like she has found something valuable.
Crixa dips her fingertips into the water and then presses them to the bundle gingerly. "Welcome. Thanks be to First Mother."
The congregation repeats the words on whispers that sound like hissing as the elder priestess turns back down the aisle with the infant.
The rest of Crixa’s words are a blur when she dismisses us, my mind fixated on what I just witnessed. I stand instantly and walk to the open doors, not wanting to linger and hear the other priestesses’ happy voices.
Now that they have something else to speak about other than the disgraced temple member in the back, they do not notice how quickly I leave.
Ben begins walking beside me as soon as I pass him. I want to put as much space between me and that temple as possible. I am sick, like I could throw up every bit of sugar bread and bile in my stomach and it would still not be enough. I can't be sure, but I have a feeling what I saw was darker than any of those women could imagine.
"Ferren!"
I turn my head so fast, I barely catch myself from stumbling.
Thea races toward me, her beautifully made temple gown perfectly draped on her petite frame. Her smile grows even bigger, as bright and shiny as the large gold earrings peeking out of her veil.
I try to reply several times without completing a full word as she wraps her arms around me. I am so happy to see her, but what is meant to be a hug, a wonderful reunion between old friends, feels like embracing a stranger.
