Page 22 of The Garnet Daughter
Nine
August is gone by the time I wake up, likely eager to resume work on the beacon after the progress he made yesterday. I barely slept after what occurred last night, and when I finally succumbed, my body took advantage and I slumbered past dawn.
But what exactly happened, I am not sure. The details are foggy. Whatever I experienced, I need to speak with the elders as soon as possible.
The village is a flurry of excitement, decorations and floral crowns already adorning some heads, reminding me what day it is. The celebration of the conjunction.
My heart sinks at how close we are to the final days.
I weave through people too happy to pay attention to me as I head to the elders’ home. They will soon leave into the forest to bless the hunters who will feed the village tonight and carry out traditions for most of the day, but I need answers. Their knowledge of old gods is vast, so perhaps they will know why it spoke to me and its meaning.
Long, brightly colored strings dance in the archway as I pass through, hoping at least some elders have time for me.
“Calliape? Happy conjunction,” one of the elders’ aids says to me.
I spin in the direction of her voice, where she packs a traveling basket full of blankets and food. “Hello, happy conjunction.”
“Have you come to join the hunting party?”
“I need to speak to the elders. It is of great importance.”
“They are preparing for the hunt.” She shakes her head and stands between me and Elder Oona and Isaac. They sit on tufted cushions in the back of the serene gathering room, eyes closed and peaceful as they are adorned with flowers and painted symbols.
“It won’t take long. I promise, please.”
“Stay here.” She points a finger to the floor, then disappears into the back.
I shift on my feet, restless until the eldest of the elders, Victoria, shuffles out, holding on to the forearms of her aid, who whispers to her of my visit.
She sits with the elder siblings and greets me with a confused nod. “Young Calliape, what torments you so that you must interrupt such preparations?”
“Forgive me, elders, but I needed to speak with you immediately.”
“Sit, sit. Everyone in this village needs to speak to us immediately,” Elder Oona calls out with a smile, then waves off the helpers preparing them for the festivities.
I bow my head, grateful for their patience, before sitting cross-legged in front of their resting place. “I withheld details of the trouble in Cosima. I did not know of their significance until now. I was afraid to confess, forgive me.”
Elder Oona nods. “The details of the Cosima conflict are not of interest. You are forgiven, child.”
“Cosima’s stone was taken,” I tell them flatly, knowing they could not imagine such a thing.
“Frith’s stone?” she asks, but her and the other elders’ expressions change to a sterner version of themselves, a contrast to the happy flowers that adorn them.
“Safe.”
“How did this happen?”
“An old god. A ritual was performed and it . . . presented itself.” I am withholding again, but telling them it was me and the mistakes I made will only distract them from the information that I desperately need.
“Which old god?” Elder Victoria inquires.
“I’m not sure, but it spoke when it appeared.”
“Describe it.”
“Four arms, pale eagle wings, its eyes two floating stars in a cracked bowl of water.”
“Omnesis,” Elder Victoria reveals. “It dwells in its ancient temple in the birthlands of Cosima and has maintained the balance of the three worlds since the beginning. Spoke? And what did it say?”
