Chương 69: Vol 1. New Begginings

The soothing melody of the young cubs bellowing an old hymn bounced off the roof and walls of the Port Vikera Cathedral. Lady Selvara stood regally, her posture and tail straight, her ears perked, and her face stern despite the intense jubilation she felt. Today was the day—the day her plan would be set in motion. Slowly, she crept across the chapel floor towards the frail, elderly priestess she had summoned from a nearby village.

Like the priestess, Selvara was adorned in a white cassock, but unlike the priestess, she had a chasuble in her house's hues. She could feel hundreds of eyes boring into the back of her head. The cathedral was packed, far tighter than any fifthday service she had ever attended since she was a cub. Aristocratic women sat in the front pews, their husbands elegantly dressed and sitting beside them, while lower-class merchants, artisans, dockworkers, and common labourers all filled the rows behind.

As she approached the priestess at the stairhead to the altar, she knelt and bowed her head in reverence. The elderly priestess raised both of her shaky paws.

"Let us all gather here to bear witness: Lady Selvara Maraveth has come before the eyes of Seroth and the Great Mother to accept the burdens of holy office." Burdens, Selvara thought with a suppressed grin; she always found it funny how those with power seemed to view it as some sort of woe rather than a virtue and a blessing. She remembered when she had knelt before High Priestess Veyra Solenne, and she had said unto her after giving her the words of absolution:"Go and do what you must." Selvara's tail twitched.

She had. And now that bastard woman was dead, and Selvara was still here. Funny how life worked like that. You either secure your position, or you end up six feet under.

"My lady," the priestess croaked, "do you solemnly swear to uphold the values that Seroth has set forth for all living things?"

"I do," Selvara said.

"And do you promise to serve The Great Mother and execute her will upon the land?"

"I do," Selvara said. The priestess extended one paw and placed it upon her head.

"Oh, Seroth, first beloved, betrayed, died by sword blade for us all, and the Great Mother, creator of all things, I beseech thee and ask you to rain your holiness down upon your fair maiden, Lady Selvara, and, via your paw, ordain her as a member of the clergy of your holy church." An altar girl rang a bell three times. Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Stand forth," the priestess said. Selvara did so.

"My lady, you are now the High Priestess of the Maraveth realm." With that, Selvara performed her first fifthday service. It was unorganized and messy. She missed many of the words or said the wrong prayer or hymn at the wrong time, but no one questioned or corrected her. Brought forth to her was a calf, frail and twitching. She set it down on the table and looked down at the prayer book. There were four ribbons sticking from it. Selvara stared at them. Oh, Seroth, which one did she need to open to?

The altar girl beside her—ever so subtly—tapped the red ribbon. Ah. She nodded to herself. Of course. Selvara opened it. Across the top of the page was A Prayer for the Burial of a Faithful Husband. Fuck. That was not the right one… She eventually did turn to the right page. Taking the calf, she sliced its neck open, letting the cow cry out for just a moment before it lay limp; then she handed it over to the altar girl, who carefully dropped it into the raging fire.

Selvara could not help but crack a slight grin as she watched the calf disintegrate into smoke.

"I am very happy you are the new High Priestess, my lady," the elderly priestess said as she walked on top of the bell tower with High Priestess Selvara.

"But I do wonder, does this mean you are not going to be entering the Coniton?" High Priestess Selvara looked out at the city below. Port Vikera was an ancient city, more ancient than the church or even Avion. It was said to have been first built by the original Kharani tribes who were scattered about the land in the time of Seroth. In front of her lay the Great Port, with gargantuan ships coming in and leaving.

"No," High Priestess Selvara said.

"I will enter someone in the Coniton on my behalf." The elderly priestess cocked her head.

"But you are now clergy; that would break—""The Concord, yes," Selvara said evenly, with her paws behind her back.

"That serves little purpose to me."

"Whatever do you mean?" the elderly priestess said, agape. High Priestess Selvara stared out at Grand Port.

"Mother, how old are you?"

"I… I'm forty, my lady. Why do you ask?"

"How long have you been in the church?"

"Twenty years or so."

"Have you seen any changes to her?"

"Oh, many. Why?"

"The old saying I used to hear as a cub is that the church was the rock upon which Avion stood. Would you say that is true?"

"Yes, of course."

"But you said yourself: even within your life, the church has seen many changes."

"Yes, well, that is true, but that doesn't make it not the rock of the church, does it?" Selvara kept looking at the Great Port in front of her.

"Rocks are solid, but they are not unbreakable."

"M-my lady, what do you mean?" Selvara turned away from the harbour.

"I mean that the church has spent centuries congratulating itself for being some permanent facet of life while surrendering everything that made that permanence useful in the first place." The elderly priestess blinked.

"I… do not understand."

"Of course you do. You are just playing ignorant. Oh, you priestesses love to do that." Selvara walked slowly around her.

"Once, queens sought the blessing of priestesses before declaring war. Once, nobles feared excommunication more than they ever feared losing their estates. Once, the word of the High Priestess of Veyrath could bring entire households to their very knees." This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Historically… well, yes, but the church still holds great influence, I assure you."

"Influence…" Selvara scoffed.

"What a pathetic word… influence is useless." The priestess's ears flattened.

"The church guides the realm."

"No, no, it does not. The church advises the realm with a gross politeness in its solitary corner. And when the great noble ladies and the royals decide not to listen, what exactly happens?"

"That is their choice."

"Exactly." Selvara stepped closer.

"And that right there is the problem, Mother." The priestess stared at her.

"My lady, the church should not rule the nobility or the royals."

"Why?"

"That is not the purpose we serve."

"According to whom?"

"Tradition!" Selvara smiled slyly.

"Annnnnnnd there it is."

"My lady?" Selvara leaned against the edge of the wall.

"Tradition: the last refuge for those who forgot why they even did something long ago."

"We know why we do things," the priestess said.

"The Concord exists for a reason."

"Yes. To keep clergy away from temporal power."

"Precisely!"

"And that, I think, was the biggest mistake." The priestess's fur bristled.

"That is heresy, my lady." Selvara scoffed.

"No, heresy is disagreeing with the gods." She glanced back towards Grand Port.

"I merely disagree." Suddenly, the elderly priestess was grabbed under the armpits and dragged backwards.

"What?" she said, dazed. Selvara looked at her with a menacing smile.

"Let me ask you this, Mother: are you willing to forgo the Concord?"

"Of course not!" she rasped.

"Shame. You can do your thing." The elderly priestess was forced to her knees, and, just like that, her world went dark; her head bounced comically across the stones.

"How has progress been?" Selvara asked.

"It has been going well, my lady," the leader of the group of Reformers said.

"Many of my women have rid the churches of your realm of the filth and stopped their replacement letters from getting anywhere near Veyrath."

"Wonderful, and what of the other realms?"

"They have been successful, for the most part, outside of…" The Reformer paused.

"Outside of what?" Selvara said.

"Well…" The Reformer scratched the back of her head.

"Caelrune." Selvara's ears twitched.

"Explain, please." The Reformer swallowed.

"Well… quite a few cathedrals and churches no longer… exist."

"What do you mean?" The Reformer went over everything that she knew. Selvara did not say much; she nodded and looked back out at Grand Port.

"Do you know what made my family so politically successful?"

"I am afraid I am not the most familiar with the inner workings of our civics, my lady."

"It is because we control the port that leads to the most prestigious city in this world. Anyone who wishes to go towards Veyrath must first come through us. Sure, there is the odd port here and there, but they have either been taken over or raided by the Orcs, or they are run-down, and there is a good chance you will be plunged into the depths of the sea."

"I see," the leader of the Reformers said.

"And so, no matter what the other royal families may think, they are in my paws, and I shall rule them with an iron claw." The leader of the Reformers smiled.

"This is why we trusted you with our reforming of Seroth's church, my lady."

"And you shall have your reformed church," Selvara said.

"One which has regained its power, where the clergy shall rule."

"Does that mean we must engage in part two of our plan: to make you the High Priestess of Veyrath?"

"Not yet," she dismissed.

"There is still much to do before that." # Lady Zahra Orien's husband cowered in fear at the edge of their bed as a bottle was thrown past his head. Bash! It shattered against the wall, splattering dark red wine across the plaster. It joined the remains of two others already scattered across the floor.

"That fucking cunt eater!" she bellowed, her chest heaving. Zahra paced to and fro, her tail lashing so violently that it occasionally struck furniture.

"Uh, it's… it's okay, honey; the marriage could still work…" He cautiously poked his head above the mattress. Zahra grabbed another bottle, and in a flash—and with a little yip—he disappeared again. Bash!

"Who cares! She is trying to start a fucking civil war, all because she can't"—she threw another bottle against the wall—"she can't keep that Seroth-damn clit under control."

"If it is, um… any consolation," her husband said, "I also didn't expect her to suddenly stop being, you know, ashamed of her desires."

"No shit," Zahra growled.

"This whole plan hinged on me being able to blackmail her. With no blackmail, she has no reason to honour her end of the agreement if she becomes queen." Zahra suddenly stopped pacing. Her tail went still. For several seconds, she said nothing. Then she sighed.

"There is one thing I can try." Her husband slowly raised his head.

"You…" His ears flattened.

"You don't mean…" Zahra grimaced.

"They owe me a favour; I think it is time for me to use it."

"Darling, that might cause more of a civil war than what—""I know," Zahra said.

"We have to accept that the old world order is ending and that these are new beginnings."

"What do you mean?" her husband asked.

"Too much has been bizarre these last few months. No one is moving as they are supposed to. It is like there has been some type of… ripple in the world. I don't know, perhaps that is a bunch of malarkey, but the tactics we have used since the Concord are null."

"It's time for the… ultimate move, huh?" her husband said with an ear flick.

"Yes." Zahra nodded. Knock knock knock.

"My lady?" a voice called out. Zahra looked at the wine dripping down the wall, the broken glass littering the carpets, and her husband, who was still crouched beside the bed.

"Come iiiiinnnnn," she said sing-songy. The servant entered. She looked at Zahra, her husband, and the wall; wisely, she said nothing.

"My lady," the servant said, holding a piece of paper in her paws.

"There is a letter for you."

"From whom?"

"The Serans."

"Give me that." Zahra swiftly snatched the paper, broke the seal with one claw, unfolded it, and read it over. Zahra's eyes moved rapidly across the page, and as she did so, her brow furrowed and her muzzle twisted into a snarl of incredulity.

"Why is my son with them?"

"I don't know, my lady." Zahra kept reading; her tail stopped moving.

"Why is there no mention of Neri?" The servant hesitated.

"I don't know, my lady." Neri… she was meant to be all the protection her son needed. She was a member of the Kharani Elvish Association; it was impossible to kill one of those. To be fair, she was getting up there in age. Zahra read the letter again, way more slowly this time. Her husband had risen beside the bed, one paw reaching out.

"Are… what—""Don't talk," Zahra said evenly.

"Girl, what happened to Tahir?"

"I do not know, my lady." Zahra's paws tightened around the paper, crumpling one corner. Her eyes stopped on a name. She stared at it. She had never seen a name like it before.

"And…" Her ears slowly folded back.

"And who is Morton Christian?"

"I do not know, my lady." Zahra kept reading, and as she did so, her ears slowly folded up and a smile came across her muzzle.

"Perhaps this Morton Christian could be of some use to us… when I become queen."