Chương 9: Vol 1. Confession of A Dutiful Daughter

Princess Selvara knelt against the pew in front of her as the high priestess initiated the sacrament. The entire congregation bowed in reverence. Billows of suffocating incense filled the air. The warm rays of the morning sun shone on them in majestic reds and gold through a stained-glass depiction of the Dual-Gods.

One was a nude masculine figure, narrow-waisted with a developed chest and midsection, bruised and bloodied, one hand over a glowing heart; the incarnation; the prophet; the first man; the primordial father of the Kharani. According to sacred scripture, the Dual-Gods, upon seeing the loneliness of the first Kharani woman, birthed a man whom she could love, an incarnation of the word of The Great Mother.

Though they lived happily, immortal and unperturbed for thousands of years, he was slain, and the first woman killed herself out of sorrow. The second figure was an abstract one, two-headed, veiled, fanged, bosomed, weeping, and curled into the fetal position: the Great Mother. It was impossible to know what The Great Mother looked like, at least not until one reached the afterlife.

No, all one could know was that she felt such tremendous sorrow for her children, the sinners of the world, who were so blinded by their greed that they killed the first lover. At the altar, the high priestess, an older lady whose fur had gone utterly grey, donned in a flowery stole and red chasuble over her white robes, save for little freckles of pepper in her muzzle, sliced the calf's throat; she whispered the traditional prayer of offering, just as thousands had done before her for a millennium.

Selvara kept her paws folded tightly before her, her claws gently pressing into her palms. She had seen the sacrament countless times since she was a young cub, though it seemed having not gone to church in a long while had re-sensitized her to the calf's cries. A bell rang. The Choristers sang a soothing hymn of reverence for their deity: Oh, drink long, drink deep, O' great Gods, great Dual-Gods, Two persons, one will, one law for us to follow. Let this sacrifice bring us peace, prosperity, To everlasting life.

Hark! Let the daughters of Veyrath rise, Let the sons of Veyrath obey, And may you guide our paws along the way. When the calf had finished writhing and crying and given up its soul to the Dual-Gods, the priestess fell to her knees, whispered another prayer, then handed the calf to an altar girl who placed it on the secondary altar behind the high priestess, then knelt herself. The high priestess took a lit torch from another altar girl and threw it onto the altar.

The calf caught flame, its skin blistering and splitting and melting to reveal its stringy muscles and flesh, which quickly burned and faded into ash. Turning back to the congregation, she gave the final sacramental blessing of the service and told them all to go in peace. As the congregation began to file out, Princess Selvara quickly pushed through the throngs and made her way over to the high priestess.

She was talking with an older lady of the congregation, evident from her hunch and cane, but the second she saw Selvara, the high priestess solemnly remarked,"Please, forgive me, sister. We will have to continue this some other time."

"That is quite all right," she rasped.

"May the Dual-Gods bless you."

"You too," the high priestess said with a faint smile. When the congregant had slowly scurried off, she turned her attention to Selvara.

"Why, it is good to see you attending my fifthday service, Your Highness."

"And you as well, High Priestess Veyra Solenne."

"I hear your mother and your father have been cheating on me with Mother Maelira's parish. Do they not like the grand spectacle of a mighty cathedral that exemplifies the pure might of the Dual-Gods?" High Priestess Veyra Solenne asked, only half in jest. Of everyone high up in the church, Solenne was the only one Selvara would credit with having even a minuscule trace of jocularity. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Selvara snorted and wiggled her ears.

"I am not sure, High Priestess, I do not pry into their personal spiritual affairs in that manner."

"Ay," Solenne said, "that is good; doing so too often will lead you down the path of sin. Speaking of, where have you been attending fifthday service? I have not seen you in quite a while."

"Ah, that is the thing, High Priestess," Selvara said sheepishly with her ears flattened. She felt her throat constrict. She had been rehearsing this over and over again throughout the service, and yet she still found herself tongue-tied. It was funny, she was this great and mighty politician, a wordsmith, a trickster, and yet she couldn't ask a question millions did every single day.

"I … was wondering if I could receive a confession." High Priestess Veyra Solenne thought for a moment, then said, "Of course, Your Highness. Please, this way." They made their way out of the chapel, down a corridor of marble flooring and bronze-coated walls, until they came to a little office, boxy and highly unventilated, the walls completely undecorated.

No, there was nothing in the room but two wooden chairs, a bookcase, a desk with ink and papers strewn about, and some religious iconography in the corner and on the bookshelf. High Priestess Veyra Solenne took a seat and gestured for Selvara to do so as well.

"Now, how long has it been since your last confession?"

"A year or two, probably," Selvara admitted.

"And what sins do you think you have committed?" Selvara said nothing for a moment, then, "skipping fifthday service, not saying my dawn prayers, um, lying, I … I flicked the bean quite a bit"—she knew she was delaying the big one, the mental anguish that had been nagging at her for a while—"disrespecting my mother and my father." High Priestess Veyra Solenne nodded thoughtfully.

"I see. Are you wishing to go any further into any of these grievances against the divine? Perhaps you are wishing for advice?"

"I do not want to enter the Coniton," she said. High Priestess Veyra Solenne blinked and flicked her tail, then said: "Why ever not, young one?"

"High Priestess, who can enter the Coniton?" she rhetorically asked.

"Any one of the four royal households, I believe."

"And who is the real victor if the person who entered in the name of that household goes on to win?"

"The … head of that household, I think," Veyra said softly.

"So why should I have to enter, because my fragile old mother no longer can? I am not a fighter, I am a politician, you hear me!"

"Do you not think it is your duty as a daughter to the head of your household?" Veyra asked. Selvara's ears went back, and she said angrily, "Why? Why can't the old hag do it?" Veyra's smile softened.

"Ay," Veyra said with one hand out, "let's not be so vulgar in our language—" Selvara jumped from her chair and paced back and forth in a fit of pique.

"I have served high-ranking officials since I was ten. You hear me, ten! I was not even an adult when I began my ascension into power. I deserve to be the winner of the Coniton. Me! I deserve it! Not her, what has she done to deserve it? Bear the same name as me? That is all that she has over me. I am smarter, I am more capable. She is nearly thirty-five, on death's door, I still have many more years ahead of me, so why…" Selvara fell to her knees and began to sob.

"So why must I have to wait until that woman ceases to be, when I will be too fragile to fight, in order to—" High Priestess Veyra knelt and embraced Selvara with a strong hug.

"There, there, my child, it will be alright; jealousy is quite normal; envy is quite normal; these are parts of the condition of living, however, if we hold on to them, they will separate us from the grace of the Dual-Gods, you understand?" Selvara nodded. High Priestess Veyra stood up and offered Selvara a paw. Then she whispered the words of the rite of confession and said,"… and I hereby absolve you of your sins. Now, go and do what you must!"

"Thank you, High Priestess," Selvara said. They began to walk out of the room and into the hallway.

"I will do what I must." # It was dark out, and Lady Tulta was whispering her prayers before bed. She especially loved the devotional to Seroth, first man, first lover, first prophet, the incarnation of the word of the Great Mother. There was something about it that brought her peace of mind. A small icon of Seroth sat on the bedside table, the little sacred heart catching the moonlight.

"Oh, great Seroth, father of all, may I drown in your infinite love, may I never know respite from your blessings…" The door creaked open. Lady Tulta looked up. It was Selvara.

"Oh," Tulta rasped, drawing her blanket over her frail shoulders; the nighttime from the open window felt quite harsh on her aching body.

"You are still up, my dear." Selvara said nothing.

"I know you have been feeling stressed about the Coniton lately," Tulta said.

"I understand, but it is a must for this family."

"Indeed," Selvara said evenly. Tulta's ears twitched.

"Selvara? Dear? Selvara's knife glistened in the moonlight.